

oA 

| A * . * * 

V 


V-' <1 ’ ^ 

^ <7 „ n ■> -lO' C?, 

V. H N 0 ** y * „ 't* 

, s ,O y * o. 

<> S « i^XiQ^ 2 7 ^ V 7 

^ ° 


0 N 


** s W 


■o, _ 


s «6 ^ 

A * " 8 « '<* 
0° *' — 1 ? 


aa : 


.AA s. 

X 0o x. 


A*& *■ 

^ A‘ ^ 

S T> « 




°- '*•-'*' N*\s.., 





* 4> V * 

° '<?' ~ y\ > 

° ^ 4$> ° 

2 ^ z 

o A "Of* 

- A? * " 

X Xl <“ Y 0 * \ 

v 1 8 * <** ■& C 


'- - arm.io ° , c 

* ^r%^\ * o\‘ 

<D y s , . s ^0 

^ ft ft s *S 

O-s .0 V v* 


w* -r”^ -•06?*"^’"% *.W/ AA- 

\ *o **7“*\S J? ' '••!’ A 

1,1 /'c»»'. % . '**' f oA 

- . . X *^~* V V ' '/V aT ° ’>/* ' * . >o "* ' 'A A • "* •> 



•*> ^ 

■ /> 

^ 5 M 0 *> 

* * T ^ N rv 

* _v° 

'^ V 

*®' A% / 



€i"',_ -c 



C °- ^ > >Ta * ' s » * *%. ^ .0 K ® ’ f 0 ' 

V v S l!nL* > A‘ A *°a 

& * rfsitei * ^ <a* 

^ /4\ \ I /U 0 


<• 4V1 

C A V 

t/> <\ v 


* - -V " 

0 * *• ^ A ^ ^ y * * s s 

A / A -J> G U v V ^/7^_' ? ^ 

^ ^ 0 ' >, G* 


.\X V -^. : 

■* -»t,. * . 


* 4 -1* * W 

kV Vv ^ Ik 

\ > y' m 



X 0 Oc * ^ 


^ ^ w, *f 

% '» GTT’” vs?° %* 


A y A> 

A v » 


7 0 * S " ^ \ 1 * * 'O ^ V A . 0 N C Q ~*t ^ 

G 0 v S -y*^, -» * 7 <3 

•'o o’* : /; m. «> * ^ ^ : - •**» - ^ ^ 

x 0 ^ ^ 



0 V ^ « / c- Vs' **> /, *> 

^ A, ' ' 




=* ^0 


n S’ % 
* -,V 



% •« s ;■<. >" ao 
^ o v a ' * ° 

V> + 

* 


J ‘>, '• ? ^C VV 7^’ * A ,V ’ ^ - ;< >J - , 

•o ** , c s ^ / o _ , ^ A 

* c . *tu * * ft s /A • ' 1 8 * A* 0 * x .A , 0 N r7 




C 6 '' ^7 \ * S ^ ^ * 0 K 0 ’ nX Y * O 

|**o, *%> 81 V > s s V> > //I ^ 

- - *- V * *^v ^ X X^Jr° % ^ 



/ -/ X ^?WV . 1 

s 0 ^ « v,r * X? y °" *< 

0 * ae/t 7 ? 7 ^ + ^ A < 

< ^ y 

«• 

o 

< " .0 


X '■ <% 

V'^’V 0 



^ ^ __ . 

^ % A \0 

^ * o K 0 


s * * r*. > 


»«3»V / . / V ) «. / U‘ 



'% %* 


1 >* ' v, -*V> ' " '.,#% 

*; V*- ‘ 


t* - ^ *> A t o 

A / A 

^ y » av 



^ ' -.> -.i 


</> ^ 
c ^ 

. a v> % vwv v %yWiL. 

, s-' ^ < '». n* A „ ,. %. *‘ •.'' - 4 ° 

* 0 . ^-_ ' * * ' ^ t --U, ,V t 0 K c * *o, , 0 l 

v ^ 





U ♦ 8 I \ * ’ \X , * , , <> >- 

’ ol ^ * 0 / ^r > v s s T ' 

‘K° ^y : M Hr- V** -#K :u ; L^ 

^ 2 x % ifSK* vW^ 

v&* ^ *'».^V „sc.% v '-*''X - 1 '** ^ '°' l V 

■' ■%>. r ~ 



* ..X 

v ' * A &rff/Z?2^ * ^ 

xy> <t ** 

o 0 * 










































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































. 


























































































THE GREEN DEVIL 


A ROMANCE OF THORNTON ABBEY 












4 










































































■ ' 












I am Abelard and you are Heloise.” [Page 85~\ 






THE GREEN DEVIL 


A ROMANCE OF 
THORNTON ABBEY 

IN THE DAYS OF JOHN WYCLIF 

BY 

ARTHUR METCALF 

P 



THE PILGRIM PRESS 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 


(S TV 2 ' 



Copyright , 1912 
By Arthur Metcalf 


Copyright in England 
All Rights Reserved 


Published November 1912. 


THE RUMFORD PRESS 
CONCORD • N • H • U • S • A- 



tEo tfje 

Father and Mother 
the Brothers and Sisters 

OF A LARGE AND HAPPY FAMILY 

this Book is dedicated by its Author 

IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF HIS CHILDHOOD DAYS 
SPENT IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD WHERE 
ARE LAID THE SCENES 
OF THIS ROMANCE 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Midnight Prelude 5 

In which the story gets a start, and it is made to 
appear that sometimes a man’s last will and testa- 
ment may be in danger of non-execution. 

II. The Builders 15 

In which the reader is introduced to the Abbey of 
Saint Mary at Thornton, and a certain Builder 
stumbles upon a secret passage not marked in the 
Abbey plans. 

III. The Manor House 29 

In which a spurless Knight rides out upon a 
quest, and the end is not yet made manifest. 

IV. The Old, Old Story 45 

In which a man puts a certain ancient question in 
a novel way, with results sufficiently unsatisfactory, 
one would imagine, to discourage further experi- 
ment. 

V. The People’s Plaint 59 

In which feast and plot together hold the stage, 
and Villeins plan to better their sad case. 

VI. A Family Tutor 77 

Wherein the reading of an ancient romance pro- 
vokes sly young Cupid to push on to dangerous 
ground two who belong to this story. 

VII. The Feast of Dedication 95 

In which the Austin Canons re-dedicate their 
church with stately ceremony, and a Voice out of 
Mystery utters an oracle not hard to understand. 

VIII. The Dwarf ... 1 1 1 

In which Greek meets Greek in a battle of wits, 
and the man who wins suffers notable defeat. 

IX. A Scourge of Tongues 125 

In which a juicy morsel under the tongue of the 
Thornton Canons lends color to that Writ which 
avers that the tongue is a world of iniquity set on 
fire of hell. 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 


X. Inquisition 141 

In which shadows deepen about the path of a good 
man, and the Thornton Canons wax solicitous 
about the welfare of the Abbot’s soul. 

XI. An Abbot’s Maying . ... 159 

Which sets forth the miracle of Spring in the 
heart of man and maid, and records how the Abbot 


nerved himself for a People’s Quest, all unconscious 
that aught sinister lay across his path. 


XII. The Valley of the Shadow 177 

In which the Dean of Thornton plays a high stake, 
and the Abbot clears the way for the Dean’s ambi- 
tion by losing the game. 

XIII. The Keelby Witch 195 

In which the supernatural takes a hand in the 
game, and it becomes apparent that there are more 
things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in 
our philosophy. 

XIV. Heloise 213 


Which clearly sets forth the great difficulty of 
making up one’s mind, especially when the advice 
to be followed is that of a foulsome witch under 
ban. 

XV. Guilbert de Rouen 225 

Which demonstrates the wisdom of that ancient 
writ which declares that, “he that is slow to anger 
is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his 
spirit than he that taketh a city.” 

XVI. The Holy Palmer 239 

In which it would appear that men, like things, 
sometimes are not what they seem, and that a 
holy man may lead a double life and not be damned 
for it. 


XVII. Conspiracy 253 

Which duly chronicles the strange doings of a 
midnight conspiracy, and sets forth the several 
parts taken therein by sundry folk who maintain 
prominent roles in the cast of the story. 

XVIII. Dean Fletcher 271 

In which it appears that a man of peaceable voca- 
tion may become a man of war, and a chain of 
notable events leads the Dean of Thornton to 
bring to the Abbey certain questionable and mys- 
terious allies. 

[ via ] 


CONTENTS 


XIX. 


xx. 


XXI. 


XXII. 


XXIII. 


XXIV. 


XXV. 


The Apprentices of Mars 287 

In which Monk and Villein join an issue on a 
bloody field, and Dean Fletcher, his monks, and 
his allies, long for the Sheriff or for night. 

The Turn of a Far-Ebbed Tide 305 

In which the singular exercise of a great heart by 
Guilbert de Rouen complicates that good man’s 
affairs, and threatens the Dean of Thornton with 
disaster; and the end of the day’s peril is not yet 
in sight. 

A Prisoner of Vengeance 319 

Which makes due record of a notable arrest, and 
sets forth how a certain dungeon became a field 
whereon two men contended without the letting of 
blood, and neither antagonist gained a signal vic- 
tory. 

Called Back 337 

Which records the steady flow of an incoming 
tide, and tells how a maid bound his armor on her 
Knight and sent him forth upon an unusual quest. 

The Lincoln Assize 355 

Which duly records the trial of Guilbert de 
Rouen at the Bloody Assize, and sets forth that 
good man’s bearing in the prospect of a horrible 
death. 

The Mother of a Witch 377 

Which makes due record of certain strange hap- 
penings on the borderland of the occult world, and 
leaves the reader to infer that witches love much 
the same as do less supernatural folk. 


Black Cat 393 

In which the strange incidents chronicled would 
seem to make it appear that a warning given and 
a warning heeded may be two quite different things, 
in the affairs of witches as well as of commoner 
folk. 

XXVI. The Green Devil and the Red 409 

Which records the story of a strange moonlight 
chase, and sets forth the hope, that, since the devils 
fall out, in the end honest folk may get their due. 

XXVII. The Installation of an Abbot ; 423 

In which a slip between cup and lip is attended 
with astounding results, and operates in such a 
manner as to clearly indicate that Nemesis has 
not forgotten his duty. 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 


XXVIII. The Ordeal by Bread 439 

Wherein a superstitious judicial process works out 
substantial justice, and the moral seems to be that, 
wherein Vice falls short of being its own punish- 
ment Eternal Justice steps in to heap up what is 
lacking of full measure. 

XXIX. Retribution 455 

In which it is made to appear that if stone walls 
have ears they also have tongues, and that they may 
become the strange undoing of a man’s fine pros- 
pects. 

XXX. Nemesis < 471 

In which a man makes a strange leap into the 
other world, expecting thereby straightway to 
land in Hell, and, though he well deserved his fate, 
some readers may be magnanimous enough to hope 
that he may have experienced something of a dis- 
appointment. 

XXXI. An Idyl with a Cloud 489 

Which faithfully chronicles the manner in which, 
after much storm and stress, certain ships cast 
anchor in quiet waters, the chapter being dedicated 
to the comfortable faith that, “All’s well that ends 
well.” 

XXXII. The Epilogue 507 

Which contains some inconsequential paragraphs 
which do not properly belong to the story, and 
which therefore may be skipped at the reader’s 
pleasure. 


[x] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 



CHAPTER I. 


A MIDNIGHT PRELUDE 



THE GREEN DEVIL 


CHAPTER I 

A MIDNIGHT PRELUDE 

IN WHICH THE STORY GETS A START, AND IT IS 
MADE TO APPEAR THAT SOMETIMES A MAN’S 
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT MAY BE IN DANGER 
OF NON-EXECUTION 

“Hist! Here the silly fool comes.’ ’ 

Three closely masked men in Lincoln green slid 
into the shadow of a passage between two houses 
on the Bail, in the ancient city of Lincoln, in 
England, and narrowly eyed the approaching 
watchman. 

“He’s not so drunk as he will be!” whispered 
one, and the others laughed softly. 

The cathedral bell boomed, and immediately 
the watchman’s cry rang out over the hill, 
“Twelve o’clock, and midnight. All’s well. God 
save the king.” The fellow’s call thinned out, 
and at the end he added, sotto voce , “And send a 
thirsty man a drink!” 

Swinging his lantern and advancing up the 
narrow street, the watchman fell to humming a 
ballad about the greenwood and the king’s deer. 
Shortly, by accident as it were, he met one of the 
men in green, who had no difficulty in piloting 

[5] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


him into the snuggery at the White Hart. En- 
sconced behind a high settee, the two discussed 
sundry frothy potions until, beyond a doubt, the 
watchman was gloriously drunk, — drunk enough to 
satisfy even the man in green. 

The two men in green waited on the Bail until 
their companion and the watchman had turned 
into the White Hart. Then they picked their way 
through the dark of the back alleys until they 
came to a house huddled under the eaves of the 
cathedral. 

“Here we are,” whispered the taller man of 
the two. 

For a moment he lifted the muffle from the 
lantern he carried in his hand. The glimmer of 
light which struggled through the horn fell upon 
a heavy oaken door, over the lintel of which the 
man read the word Scrivener. The remainder of 
the words which had originally been displayed on 
the sign, time had well-nigh obliterated. It was 
a stately, timbered house, evidently the abode of a 
well-to-do man-at-law. 

The two men picked their way to the back of 
the dark building. All was quiet, and clouds made 
the summer night dark enough to conceal the 
men’s movements. The window shutters were 
tightly closed and the door was locked, but the 
taller of the two men produced a key that seemed 
to have been forged for the lock of that particular 
door. On the worn steps the two paused and 
listened. Not a sound stirred. Darkness and 
[ 6 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


silence reigned. Reassured, the men entered the 
house and closed the door. 

Inside, a passage led toward the front of the house. 
On either hand doors opened into rooms whose 
secrets they hid. The lantern threw a ghostly 
glimmer down the passage, and a musty odor, 
together with an air of mystery which haunted the 
house, might have daunted fainter hearts. With 
another key the tall man let his companion and 
himself stealthily into one of the rooms leading off 
from the passage. The room was empty of human 
life. Was that a step on the stair? The pair stood 
still and listened. No; only a loose shutter shaken 
by the wind. Already the thick, heavy curtains 
were drawn across the windows, but the tall man 
drew them closer and assured himself that the 
outside shutters were tightly closed. When he 
was sure that the light would not shine into 
the street he unmuffled his lantern, and at the 
lantern he lighted a candle which was standing on 
a table. 

The light revealed a room that might have been 
taken for the scriptorium of a monastery. Shelves 
and books, parchments and heavy folios lined the 
walls, and tall stools stood by desks littered with 
parchment, quills, and ink, just as the scriveners 
had left them when the day’s work was done, hours 
ago. The light also revealed the men. Only one 
man wore the ordinary Lincoln green. His bow and 
full quiver hung at his back, and a forest knife had 
well nigh worn through the sheath at his belt. 
[ 7 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The faces of both men were masked. The tall man 
was a striking figure, and he might have just 
stepped out from the cast of a miracle play. Except 
that he was green instead of red, he was dressed 
exactly like the devil, horns, and tail and all, — the 
harlequin devil who drew upon himself the laughter 
of the crowd on market days, when church actors 
gave morality plays for the amusement and educa- 
tion of the people. 

Only, here was no laughing matter. The Green 
Devil’s clever, stealthy, masterful movements 
showed that he was bent on serious business. 
Moreover, he wore a very business-like French 
dagger at his belt, and his bow looked stout and 
well-used. 

His companion stumbled against a chair. The 
Green Devil put his finger to his lips. 

“You’ll be hanged, drawn, and quartered if you 
make too much noise this trip,” he added under his 
breath, and the precaution shod both men with 
velvet. The darkness outside was not more silent 
than they, as they went about the work in hand. 

Another key mastered the door of a closet 
in the wall, and the two men proceeded to examine 
the documents which bulged the recesses behind 
the door. Carefully they untied each bundle, and 
after an examination of the parchments they 
re-tied the packet with scrupulous care, and put it 
back into its pigeon-hole. It would seem that the 
Green Devil was at home among legal documents, 
and that the immediate necessity for haste and 
[ 8 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


secrecy could not turn him from the methodical 
habits of a lifetime. 

“ It will likely be in Twidale’s own hand — a good, 
round, full hand,” — Green Devil whispered, “en- 
dorsed on the back something like this deed to 
Witham Flats. Watch for ‘Thornton Manor’ in 
the title. By son ties! Here ’tis! Aye, and both 
testaments are here! Our lucky star shines well!” 

He seized two documents from a pigeon-hole, 
held them unfolded to the light, and gloated over 
their contents. The parchments were legal instru- 
ments in black letter Latin, duly signed and ac- 
knowledged, and splotched liberally with red sealing- 
wax. In one of the documents the good knight, 
Sir Thomas Wellham, upon his death, devised the 
broad acres comprising the desmesne of the Thorn- 
ton Manor to the Abbot and Chapter of St. Mary’s 
Abbey or their successors at Thornton, to have and 
to hold forever. That parchment the Green Devil 
thrust into an inner pocket, with evident satisfac- 
tion. The other document was very similar in 
appearance. It ran in much the same terms, 
except that it bore a date six months later, and that, 
“my dear nephew William Wellman, his heirs and 
assigns,” took the place of the Abbot and Chapter 
of Thornton, as the beneficiary of the last will and 
testament. 

“Silly old fool!” exclaimed the Green Devil under 
his breath. “Why did he not destroy the first 
devisement when he made the second? Some fool- 
ish scruple about the record, I suppose! Good 
[ 9 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


men are mostly fools! Well, Sir William’s loss will 
be the Abbey’s gain. ’Tis said that the Abbey 
needs these lands, they lie so close. I’ll slice this 
for the Thornton Chapter!” 

With his comrade’s sharp knife he slashed the 
document into small fragments. In the open fire- 
place kindling was laid ready to light. The Green 
Devil applied the candle, and when the flame leaped 
up the chimney he scattered the fragments of the 
parchment on the fire, and watched them shrivel 
until they were destroyed. 

The door creaked on its hinges, and the pair 
turned, quickly, silently. A scrivener’s apprentice 
stood amazed in the doorway. At the sight of the 
devil standing in front of the roaring fire, as though 
he had just dropped down the chimney, the hap- 
less wight stood speechless, rooted to the ground 
with horror. Both men drew their daggers and 
lunged at the youth. In the action the Green 
Devil’s mask dropped, and for a moment the youth 
saw a human face that it would not be easy to for- 
get. The spell was broken. With a wild shriek 
the young scrivener fled. In the passage he turned 
to the front of the house, and scaled the staircase, 
three steps at a time, shouting “Fire! Robbers! 
The Devil!” as he fled. 

The men in green glided to the door by which 
they had entered, and hurried out into the night. 
Dogs began to bark. Here and there a lattice 
opened, and a disheveled head pushed into the 
street, demanding in the name of all the saints to 
[io] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


know what was the matter. But the men in green 
halted not, nor returned answer. By the time they 
has reached the Bail a dozen men were in hot pur- 
suit, the nails in their boots ringing on the cobble- 
stones. At the Roman gate the sentry was asleep, 
and the fugitives slipped through unobserved by 
him. The pursuers came on shouting, “Shut the 
gate! Shut the gate on the thieves! ” 

The clangor awoke the sentinel in time for him to 
close the gate between pursued and pursuers, 
which feat he promptly accomplished ! J ust beyond 
the gate, in the shadow of the forest, the third man 
in green waited by the roadside with three horses, 
and the three men rode furiously northward down 
the Roman road. 


[IX] 








CHAPTER II. THE BUILDERS 



CHAPTER II 


THE BUILDERS 

IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO THE ABBEY 
OF SAINT MARY AT THORNTON, AND A CERTAIN 
BUILDER STUMBLES UPON A SECRET PASSAGE NOT 
MARKED IN THE ABBEY PLANS 

Two weeks later, on a sunny afternoon, Guilbert 
de Rouen, Architect and Builder of the new Abbey 
church, moved among his workmen in the nave of 
the new edifice. His face wore a look of content- 
ment, for the work went on apace. All about him 
the floor was cluttered with debris of brick and stone. 
A forest of scaffolding hid from view the outlines 
of the new stonework. The music of chisel and 
hammer mingled piquantly with the drone of 
workmen’s voices as they plied their trades about 
the building, and Guilbert was mildly intoxicated 
with the success of his enterprise. The year was 
1380, the country was merry England, the nearby 
hamlet was Thornton in Lincolnshire, the edifice 
a-building was the Abbey church of St. Mary. 
It was during the Abbacy of Thomas de Gretham, 
and the youthful second Richard of the house of 
Plantagenet sat on the English throne. 

Dean Fletcher strolled into the building, his 
hands clasped behind his back, his eyes hard upon 
the floor, and Guilbert went to meet him. 

[15] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Will the nave be finished by the first of August, 
Guilbert mine? ” queried the monk. “The Abbot 
would dedicate by the fifteenth of the month.” 

“I think we shall be out of your way before that. 
The remainder of the timber will be here straight- 
way. You will be safe in preparing for the dedica- 
tion.” 

“ ’Tis well, Guilbert. Glad am I of the good 
news. We are weary of this babel. Hammer 
and saw mar the sound of vesper bells. We would 
keep the turmoil of the wicked world outside the 
Abbey. Tomorrow is midsummer day. You will 
have six weeks to the first of the month for finishing 
touches, which will leave us two weeks to make 
ready for the dedication. I pray you finish the 
church, though the Gate House go beyond the date.” 

“We are doing our best, Dean Fletcher. The 
Gate House and the nave will both be finished in 
time. Our men are working with a will. Never 
saw I mechanics so taken with their task, and I 
have seen churches a-building from Rome to Bristol 
ever since I was old enough to know the handle 
of a chisel from its edge. Fear not, Dean Fletcher, 
my men and I will be out of your way. You will 
have your church in time.” 

The Dean raised his head, and, ranging the build- 
ing, his sharp eye took in the progress and the in- 
dustry of the workmen. He, too, seemed to enjoy 
the music of hammers and the rhythm of cold 
chisels on stone, because it promised an early end 
to the clutter and commotion. 

[16] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“By the by,” he said, “ ’Tis rumored that Green 
Devil is abroad again.” 

“What! Again?” exclaimed Guilbert, and his 
face revealed the horror he felt. “Mean you, since 
he rifled Scrivener Twidale’s house at Lincoln? 
Where, and what now? ” 

“Barrowe, this time. They say that he assayed 
the nunnery, and was balked — the blessed saints 
be praised! He fled Barton-way, rifling sundry 
barns and hen-roosts as he went. His pack rode 
at his heels, they say. The Sheriff galloped 
north an hour agone, but I fear me the scent is too 
cold.” 

“Tis passing strange,” Guilbert mused. “The 
man’s stark mad, the head of crazy loons. They’ll 
run their necks through nooses; the sooner the 
better. But ’tis said they stole wisely at Twidale’s 
place. They seem to have a head. By-the-by, 
Dean Fletcher, rumor has it that they took but 
one parchment, and that was a deed to some of 
your Abbey lands.” 

The Dean was all attention. “Abbey lands, said 
you! I had not heard.” He shook his head and 
read the floor. “Dame rumor surely shoots wide 
of the mark this time. All our deeds lie in the 
Abbey, snug in the muniment room, beyond 
the reach of devils, green or red. Yet will I look 
into the matter, lest the Abbey suffer. Land is a 
heavy stake in the game we have to play and must 
not lose.” 

The Dean meditated awhile, then continued, 

[ 17] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Green Devil must be of the villeins. Mayhap he 
is their leader, who stirs the unrest against king 
and church.” 

“Nay, nay,” answered Guilbert, warmly, as 
though defending friends. “The villeins use not 
such tools. With them it has been observed that 
women are safe. They neither rob, steal, nor 
ravish. Green Devil only serves himself and the 
devil he mimics, is my opinion. So thinks the 
Abbot, for ’tis not long since he told me so.” 

“Well! Well! Who knows? ” The Dean shrugged 
his shoulders. Then he abruptly changed the sub- 
ject. “The Abbot deputes me to tell you, Guilbert, 
that the treasurer hath money to your order, 
that you may duly pay your men.” 

“Right glad am I that we have prompt money 
with which to pay our men,” answered Guilbert; 
and there was that in his voice that betokened a 
sympathetic relationship with his men. “Your 
English laborers work hard, and the pay is scant 
at best. I know not how the poor fellows live.” 

At the kindly sentiment Father Fletcher broke 
out with a sharp show of impatience and a gesture 
of disapproval. 

“You speak like a Wyclifite. Beshrew me, the 
times are thick with heresies. Men born to toil 
should love toil. No good comes from discontent- 
ing toilers. They are no worse off than were their 
fathers, and their fathers’ fathers. A little wage 
and a cot are a good thing. You should not turn 
Wyclifite, good Guilbert — there’s too much at 

[18] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


stake.” The monk’s tirade drifted into a patron- 
izing tone, and was accompanied by a slight laugh 
in which a close observer might have suspected a 
touch of insincerity. 

Guilbert looked annoyed, and passed up toward 
the transept, speaking and nodding pleasantly to 
his men as he went. Having nothing better to do, 
Father Fletcher accompanied the architect. The 
monk’s hands were still clasped behind his back, 
his eyes still travelled the pavement, and every 
now and again his tongue shot athwart his thin 
lips, moistening them, as he loitered down the nave. 
Presently he continued, as though the matter 
pressed upon his mind : 

“ If we sympathize with mechanics and villeins 
we shall have them in revolt before we know it. 
The masses and the classes will be at each others’ 
throats, and there’ll be the devil to pay. News of 
riot drifts in every day. Every post threatens us 
from Kent. I fear me bad times are ahead. If 
things come to the worst, Guilbert, your sympathies 
and your sword would be with the Church and 
Nobles, would they not? A builder could never 
be an iconoclast! We must stamp out the schism 
between the poor and the rich.” 

“It’s ill talking of schisms, Father Fletcher, with 
the shameful news that comes from Avignon,” 
exclaimed Guilbert, warmth and humor equally 
mixed in his voice. “A Schismatic Church will 
find it difficult to protest against schism in the 
State. You have no fulcrum for your lever! 
[ 19 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Really, Father Fletcher, you monks would better 
apply yourselves to the betterment of the villeins’ 
lot if you fear their revolt. The well-fed are happy, 
and stay where they are put, but the hungry ever 
are a menace to society. Your charity is better 
than your theology, and a genial smile goes further 
than the crack of a whip.” 

The architect led the way up a winding stair in 
the intersection of the nave and transept, and the 
two men came out on a small belfry balcony cut 
in the angle of the wall at the level of the triforium. 
The scene from the belfry compelled both men to 
silence — the monk moved by its ecclesiastical 
appeal, the builder by its witching architectural 
symmetry. 

The great nave lay at their feet, alive with work- 
men finishing its western bays. Eight noble arches 
stretched westward, their clustered pillars support- 
ing a beautiful triforium and clerestory with 
pointed windows. North and south, lay the tran- 
septs, rich little chapels built into their aisles. 
Eastward, over the rood screen, lay the chancel, 
bathed in rich light strained through The Cruci- 
fixion wrought in the stained glass of the large 
windows above the altar. The dark oak of the 
carved choir stalls contrasted effectively with the 
marble parquetry of the pavement and harmonized 
with the ageing stone of the choir masonry. 

Up to the two men floated the varied sounds of 
workmen at their trades. Yonder a group of 
carpenters worked upon the massive oaken doors 
[ 20 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


which were to swing in the eastern facade of the 
Gate House. Beyond the walls, smiths beat reluc- 
tant iron into quaint ecclesiastical shapes, and from 
yonder came the age-long anvil chorus. Under 
open sheds in the enclosure, masons shaped huge 
blocks of stone for the turrets of the new Gate 
House. Across garth and cloister, monks passed 
to and fro, on business or on pleasure bent. 

Some unwonted hilarity among a group of novices 
lounging by the dial attracted Father Fletcher’s at- 
tention, and, excusing himself, he hastened down the 
stairs, reprimand written upon his countenance and 
duty ostentatious in every step. 

“What a strange man,” Guilbert mused, as the 
Dean disappeared down the stairs. “If the stolen 
deed ever comes into his hand it will go hard with 
my friends at the Manor House. Truly, I like 
him not, and dare not trust him.” 

Freed from the presence of his companion, 
Guilbert lightly ascended the stairs to the top of 
the tower. At that coign of vision there met him 
the full glory of an English summer afternoon. 
Soft sunshine mottled the velvety sward below with 
shadows of greenwood in full leaf. The air was 
laden with the fragrance of wild flowers. Stately 
elms, royal oaks, shapely ashes, spreading beeches 
cast delightful shade on the forest sward. Music 
haunted the babble of water that ran invisibly in 
meadowy dells. High in mid-air trilled the marvel 
of the song of the lark, and in near-by bushes the 
matchless melody of the thrush intoxicated Guil- 
[21 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


bert’s ear with rare music. In it all there 
lurked an indefinable sense of lingering day, with 
the sun far away to the north, time for everything 
plenty and to spare, inviting both to labor and to 
leisure. 

The buildings of the Abbey lay clustered beneath 
Guilbert’s feet — dormitories, refectory, scriptorium, 
the chapter house and the Abbot’s residence, the 
old Gate House, workshops for the Abbey’s crafts- 
men, bakery, brewery, granaries, stables, piggeries, 
dovecote, — and his eye compassed the architec- 
tural ensemble with delight. 

But chiefly was Guilbert pleased with the new 
Gate House in the westward enclosing wall, gleam- 
ing in the virgin purity of newly cut stone, fresh 
from the hands of his men, the scaffolding still veil- 
ing its beauty from less expert eyes than his. The 
oriel window challenged his admiration, and he 
murmured to himself: 

“There’s not a finer in England. Bigger there 
are, but none better. ’Twas an inspiration. ’Twill 
be hard to improve on when next I build!” 

A-field, Guilbert’s vision ranged over a country 
inspiring to the eye, a land that flowed with milk 
and honey, and big with human possibilities. 
The scene thrilled Guilbert. 

“ ’Tis a goodly land,” he mused, looking fondly 
over the landscape, “and ought to be a happy 
land. The follies of its rulers and priests are its 
greatest burden. The sage of Malvern Hill well 
knows the land’s shame. What saith he? ” — and 
[ 22 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he murmured to himself certain lines from the 
Vision of Piers the Plowman: — 

“In many places the parsons themselves be at ease; 

Of the poor they have no pity : and that is their charity! 
And they live them as lords, their lands lie so broad. 
But there shall come a king and confess you, ye Religious. 
And beat you, as the Bible telleth, for breaking your rule, 
And amend menials, monks, and canons, 

And put them to their penance.” 

“Will the vision e’er come true? ” Guilbert asked 
himself. “Certainly the times be ripe, and some- 
thing is toward. The king’s officers will surely 
collect the poll tax. That injustice will rouse a 
nest of hornets that will stir England these coming 
days. Revolt is sure to follow. The sad thing 
about it all is that, in the end, the poor will suffer 
most. ‘ To him that hath shall be given.’ ” 

Deep and sonorous beneath his feet, the Angelus 
bell startled Guilbert out of his reverie. Instinc- 
tively, he bent his head in the attitude of reverence 
and stood still. Where they stood, the craftsmen 
quietly laid down their tools and paused with bowed 
heads, as if they too were waiting for some heavenly 
visitant. From below, in the church, a momentary 
shuffling of feet on the pavement drifted up to 
Guilbert, as tardy monks slipped into their places 
in the chancel. A moment later the voice of 
Father Fletcher rang out loud and clear, leading 
the brief service of the Angelus, and the antiphones 
filled the church and swelled out through the open 
courts, invading with their petition the surrounding 
woods. 


[23] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The Amen of the Angelus lingered tenor-like on 
the air. Then the monks filed across the cloister 
into the refectory. The workmen laid aside their 
aprons, put away their tools, and, with the Angelus’ 
mystic spell upon them, passed out to their evening 
meal and lodging. 

Descending, Guilbert paused a moment in the 
belfry to watch his men leave the church, and then 
continued on to the foot of the stairs. Through an 
open window he heard the monks at their evening 
meal, where the sounds of feasting were decently 
suppressed in order that the words of the Reader 
might be heard. St. John was reading, and the 
familiar voice of his friend halted Guilbert at the 
foot of the stairs, and he listened. 

“ ‘Oh, how brief, how false, how inordinate and 
filthy, are all those pleasures! Yet so drunken 
and blind are men that they understand it not; 
but, like dumb beasts, for the poor enjoyment of 
this corruptible life they incur the death of the soul. 
Thou, therefore, my son, go not after thy lusts, 
but refrain thyself from thine appetite’ ” — 

Guilbert turned from the homily to close the 
door. Something about the little area at the foot 
of the stair attracted his attention and roused his 
curiosity. He dropped down on his hands and 
knees and closely scrutinized the little square of 
pavement. “Well! Well!’’ he exclaimed with a 
chuckle, as one who recognizes an old acquaintance 
in an unexpected place and felicitates himself 
upon the discovery. With both hands he felt 

[24] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


about the base of the wall. At length his face 
lighted, and he pushed heavily upon a spot he had 
discovered. In response to pressure a joint in the 
floor opened sufficiently for the insertion of his 
fingers. He raised the stone, and underneath it 
discovered stone steps leading into subterranean 
darkness. 

Guilbert wondered where the steps might lead. 
Curiosity urged him on. Remembering a torch 
standing in the belfry he found it but the work of a 
moment to fetch it. Then he closed the door upon 
his operations, and flint, steel and tinder, with a 
little human breath, soon kindled the torch into a 
flame. Descending the steps, Guilbert found himself 
in a dark subway, narrow and low and cobwebby, 
evidently long out of use, built among the founda- 
tions of the church. From its general trend, Guil- 
bert thought he had lighted upon a secret passage 
to the Chapter House. Feeling his way carefully 
past several turns in the subway, he came at length 
to steps similar to those by which he had entered, 
and there the burrow ended. For a moment he 
fancied that by some freak of confusion he had 
travelled in a circle and had returned to his starting 
point. But the steps mounted to a stone ceiling, 
and a little investigation showed him that he had 
come to the end of the secret passage. He would 
investigate whither the passage led. With his 
free hand, he repeated the process of pushing and 
tapping upon the walls by which he had gained 
entrance. In a little while his sagacity was re- 

[25] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


warded. Something gave way, and he was able 
to lift a stone in the roof of the passage, whereupon 
a sudden draught wellnigh extinguished his torch. 
He carried the torch back a few steps and stood it 
behind a pillar. Then he returned, ascended the 
steps, and with his shoulder pushed up the stone 
trap. One look about him, and he was greatly 
surprised. His head and shoulders had not in- 
vaded the Chapter House as he had expected, 
but were in the Abbot’s bedroom on the further 
side of the Abbot’s House! Hastily, and in some 
confusion, because of his singular intrusion into 
so private an apartment, Guilbert sank back into 
the subway, and after replacing the trap and secur- 
ing his torch, he picked his way back to the foot 
of the belfry stairs. After returning the trap to its 
place, he blew out the torch and carried it back to 
the belfry. Then he closed the door, passed through 
the transept into the cloister and by the Abbot’s 
House to the old Gate House, and soon to Thornton. 

“Evidently,” he mused as he strode through 
the woods to his supper, “some previous Abbot 
arranged the subway in order that private espial 
might be possible upon the monks’ devotions. The 
passage has probably been unknown a hundred 
years. ’Tis not marked in the old plans! A nice 
little secret! The Thornton monks shall be no 
wiser for my discovery.” 

Guilbert walked briskly Thorntonward, turning 
over in his mind the secret passage, and wondering 
about the Green Devil. 

[26] 


CHAPTER III. THE MANOR HOUSE 




CHAPTER III 

THE MANOR HOUSE 


IN WHICH A SPURLESS KNIGHT RIDES OUT UPON A 
QUEST, AND THE END IS NOT YET MADE MANIFEST 

His supper ended at the Saracen’s Head, Guilbert 
de Rouen straightway retired to his little room to 
make his evening toilet. He was in rare spirits, and 
whistled the tune of a lightsome troubador song, 
halting the strain only while he bathed his face with 
cold water and rubbed it vigorously with a rough 
towel. From an oaken chest he drew a silver comb, 
and, with the aid of a small steel mirror, straight- 
ened out the tangle of his hair. It was but the 
work of a moment to discard his work-a-day hose 
and shoes, and to install in their place fine green 
silken stockings and absurdly long-pointed shoes. 
Then he put on a red silk tunic and fastened it 
down the front with a score of silver buttons which 
bore the crest of his Normandy House. On his belt 
he hung a French sword of fine workmanship. A 
little in front of the sword he fastened on his belt 
a chatelaine, to serve the double purpose of purse 
and pocket. 

His dress in order to his taste, Guilbert took a 
roll of parchment from a tiny bookshelf at the head 
of his bed and thrust it into his bosom. Over his 
shoulders he threw a dark velvet cape lined with 
creamy silk. Jauntily upon his head he put a 

[29] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Flanders hat, decorated with the red plume of a 
foreign bird. Then he stepped lightly through the 
public bar, — out under the creaking sign of the inn 
which bore the representation of a Saracen’s head, — 
into the little street which straggled through the 
village past the church. A groom was waiting 
with a horse, and Guilbert vaulted into the saddle 
and trotted leisurely down the street toward the 
Manor House. 

A quarter of a mile or so beyond the last house 
of the village, the sharp gables of the Manor House 
came in view in a clearing of the forest. An invol- 
untary tightening of the reins and a prouder seat 
in the saddle, with a deft touch of the spurs which 
changed his steed’s trot into a lively caracole, 
failed not to proclaim that the Manor House was 
the object of Guilbert’s evening pilgrimage. The 
drawbridge was down, and over it Guilbert walked 
his horse into the courtyard, and then cantered 
him across the open space, bringing him up on his 
haunches beneath an open balcony on which sat a 
group of people enjoying the evening hour. With 
the air of one quite at home, Guilbert threw him- 
self off his horse and gave the reins into the hands 
of a waiting groom. He ascended the balcony steps, 
and the Lady Heloise advanced to greet him. 

“You are a tardy knight,” she exclaimed. “We 
began to think that an Abbey wall had fallen on 
you, Jericho-wise! But you are welcome to the 
Manor House. Have you news? Or a story? 
Or will you sing a song?” 

[ 30 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Nay — Nay! Mistress Heloise! You do verily 
demand the toll at the gate! ” Guilbert answered, 
and laughter lurked in the eyes of them both. 

Hearing Guilbert’s voice, Sir William called 
him into the house, saying: “Meet Scrivener 
Twidale.” 

A man tall and of heavy frame, his massive head 
shocked with a mop of long grey hair, his granite 
features deep cut, sharp and expressive, his eyes 
set deep under shaggy brows, greeted Guilbert 
cordially. He carried an inkstained quill behind 
his ear, and an inkhorn swung at his girdle. 

Sir William proceeded, gravely. “It seems that 
we are likely to be ousted, Guilbert.” 

“By reason of the filched will? ” Guilbert queried. 

“Aye, it may be our undoing. Scrivener comes 
to advise us of the worst. We were debating what 
should be done.” 

“How came there to be two wills, Sir William? ” 
Guilbert asked. 

“It came about in this way. While campaigning 
in France, Uncle Thomas fell sick, and he came 
home expecting to die. They bore him into the 
house on a litter. I well remember the cold dismal 
day, being here on a visit at the time. The leeches 
gave uncle up to die. Then Lady Anne, the dear 
good soul, sent for the Abbot to give the sick man 
viaticum. The old Abbot happened to be sick — 
it was before Thomas de Gretham came to the 
Abbey — and in his stead he sent Father Fletcher, 
then a mere stripling of a monk but devilishly 

[31 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


ambitious, who has now got to be the Dean of the 
Abbey. With him came another shriver, who is 
now dead, and who, it seems, besides being a monk, 
was a sort of hedge-scrivener. Just what took 
place in the sick room no man knows, for uncle 
never told, and on such matters monks are close as 
sepulchers! But the monks took with them to the 
Abbey the last will and testament of Sir Thomas, 
and stood ready, I doubt not, to ring his passing bell, 
for the parchment devised the Manor estate to the 
Abbey, upon the death of the testator. But in 
spite of priests and leeches, Sir Thomas did not die, 
but got well again. When he was on his feet, one 
day he had a stormy time at the Abbey. Just 
what happened we do not know, but uncle came 
away triumphant, with the will in his pocket. 
Shortly afterward uncle sent for Scrivener Twidale 
and made the will which the Green Devil stole, the 
will which made me and mine his heirs.” 

“And left the old will intact? ” asked Guil- 
bert. 

“Aye; that’s the trouble. ’Twas the foolish 
whim of a wise man. He fancied ’twere better to 
keep the old will. A man can’t be wise all the 
time!” Sir William added, ruefully. 

“Twenty-five years both wills have been safe in 
our House,” said the Scrivener, willing to defend 
even a dead client. “They would be safe yet, but 
for this atrocious housebreaking. The House never 
lost a document before.” The old man seemed 
bent by his novel misfortune. 

[ 32 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“There is no clue to the burglar? ” Guilbert 
inquired. 

“None, tangible. We really saw naught. The 
lad woke us, screamingly terribly. I ran to the 
stairs. The lad ran past me, his eyes like saucers, 
his hair on end. Two men in Lincoln green slid 
down the passage and through the door as I looked 
over the balustrade. The boy says he surely saw 
the devil! Whom it was I saw, I know not. The 
street raised hue and cry, and the rout chased 
two men to the Roman gate. The Sheriff has in- 
formation that three horsemen kept to the Roman 
roadj for ten miles northward. There one rider 
swung down the hill westward, and Green Devil 
vanished into thin air in the woods to the east.” 

“Have you no theory, Scrivener, who the thief 
may be? ” 

“ ’Twas no common thief. Whosoever stole 
the will knew the place and what he wanted. He 
burned the deed that was in force, as is proved by 
fragments in the ashes. Naught else was disturbed. 
Beyond this no clue has come to light.” 

“No suspicion? ” questioned Guilbert. 

“What a fine man-at-law you would make, Guil- 
bert mine!” The Scrivener looked admiringly on 
Guilbert. Sir William laughed, then the two waited 
for Scrivener’s answer. Leaning forward on the 
table, Scrivener was silent a moment, then spoke. 

“No suspicion based on evidence, and none 
specific anyway. But, I’ll wager my bay stallion 
that in the end the stolen will finds its way to the 

[33] 


3 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Abbey. The thief will find his market with the 
monks who will profit by the deed. Watch the 
Abbey, Sir William. Treat with the monks if you 

„ > t 

can. 

“Our case is not so bad,” said Guilbert. “Surely 
there is evidence enough that the second will was 
made. You drew up the document, Scrivener, and 
can likely swear to its contents. Also you can 
swear to its being in your keep these years, and to 
the manner of its disappearance. Possession, also, 
I may remind you, Sir William, is nine-tenths of 
the law.” 

Scrivener shook his shaggy head. “You forget 
that our courts are almost purely ecclesiastical. 
A deed drawn in favor of the church, already in 
the hands of the church, and duly signed and sealed, 
tangibly produced in court, would outweigh a 
dozen Scriveners’ swearings. The court would 
think we lied to rob holy church of land. Likelier 
would we win a prison than our just case. No! 
Keep an eye on the Abbey. If the will appears, 
compound as best you can. But be prepared 
for the worst.” 

“Still is the case not hopeless,” urged Guilbert. 
“Abbot Thomas is our friend. Moreover he is a 
righteous man, true as steel, and without the itch 
for wealth. If the deed should come into his 
possession, and he knows the truth about it, I’ll 
warrant that he will burn it, as Green Devil burnt 
the second deed; then will he come to the Manor 
House to tell us that the deed is out of the way.” 

[34] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“We need not waste fear on the Abbot,” said 
Sir William. “ He is tutor to Heloise, and a family 
friend. But the Dean enters into the problem. 
He has great power in the Abbey, and ’tis rumored 
that he wants more. He has votes enough, and to 
spare, to rule the Chapter. ’Tis whispered that the 
Dean would be Abbot, were the way clear. If the 
missing will comes to the Dean’s hands we are un- 
done. Then will we either pack up or pay rent.” 

“Or fight!” added Scrivener dryly. “Swords 
have defeated the pen before, Sir William.” 

There was a sudden movement of the arras, and 
.from under the hanging a dwarf tumbled into the 
room. The company was surprised, especially 
Scrivener. Then the strange figure’s hunched 
back, long misshapen arms, grotesque attitude, 
and the comic seriousness of his drawn face made 
them all laugh good humoredly; in which laugh 
the dwarf himself joined heartily. The dwarf 
walked over to the back of Sir William’s chair. 

“I was sleeping like a dog,” he said shame- 
facedly, and in .a curious characteristic drawl. 
“Your talk woke me. About the stolen will, Sir 
William, if it be in the Abbey, I’ll know. Mayhap 
Dwarfy will earn his salt yet! Mum’s the word! ” 

With that the natural clown turned a hand-spring 
out of the room, and Scrivener held his sides in 
laughter. 

“Where did you get the queer imp? ” Scrivener 
asked. 

“In Flanders. One dark night he tumbled sud- 

[35] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


denly into my tent, much as you saw him just now 
make his exit from this room. I wellnigh skewered 
him with my dagger before I discovered that he 
was human! He has been in the family ever since, 
a great pet and a great nuisance, faithful as a hound 
and useless as a parrot. He’s a great baby, but, 
I warn you, not so big a fool as he likes to look. 
Moreover, he has the freedom of the Abbey. The 
monks love him for his pranks. Perchance he may 
be eyes and ears for us within the walls.” 

Sir William led the way back to the balcony, 
where Lady Wellham and Heloise plied their needles 
on a piece of tapestry, and incidentally kept an 
approving eye upon the courtyard, where the 
retainers of the house revelled in old-time English 
sports. His good footing at the Manor House 
accounted for the hearty welcome the ladies 
accorded Guilbert. 

“We English are getting ready to repeat Crecy 
and Poic tiers,” laughed Heloise, waving her hand 
over the throng in the courtyard. “ Long bows and 
Englishmen go together — so the French are begin- 
ning to think, I am told.” 

The men laughed. Guilbert shrugged his shoul- 
ders and put up his hands in token of surrender to 
her nimble wit. The twang of bowstrings and the 
whiz of arrows made music in the courtyard. 

“What fine sturdy fellows these English archers 
are,” Guilbert thought. “The yard-shaft seems to 
be part of themselves as they shoot it to the center 
of the butt.” 


[ 36 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Such men make victory a foregone conclusion,” 
he said, and Sir William accepted the compliment 
with a courtly bow. 

A man’s voice carrying the strains of a song 
attracted attention to the road that wound out of 
the forest. Presently, a Jongleur and his attendant 
emerged from the path. The gay man, gaily 
apparelled, advanced over the drawbridge tossing 
a flashing circle of daggers in the air, just as 
his forbear Tailefer had juggled as he led the 
Norman host into the fight at Hastings three cen- 
turies before. Guilbert could now recognize the 
words of his popular summer song: 

“Summer is come in; loud sing cuckoo! 

Groweth seed and bloweth mead, and springe th the 

wood all new; 

Ewe bleateth after lamb, loweth after calf cu, 1 
Bullock sterteth 2 , buck verteth 3 , merry sing cuckoo! 
Well sings the cuckoo ; never cease thou singing 
Never more!” 

The courtyard crowded about the Jongleur, the 
men clapping their hands and crying, “Bravo!” 
“Bravo!” “More; give us more.” 

The Jongleur doffed his feathered cap, made a 
low obeisance to the ladies, and greeted the com- 
pany with, “Good evening to you all. God bless 
your merry English sport. Our blessed Lady make 
you all happy. The Jongleur’s greeting to Lady and 
Sir William Wellham.” 

The two tricksters stood before the balcony. 
With such crude apparatus as they could carry 

i cow. 2 hurries. 8 leapeth. 

[37] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


with them, the Jongleur amused the gaping crowd 
with those tricks of legerdemain which have 
opened the eyes and mouths of initiated and unin- 
itiated alike since the world began. His attendant 
handed him a lute, and while the Jongleur tuned 
its strings the crowd was silent, anticipating another 
song. In a rich, easy baritone voice he lifted the 
quaint old ballad of the Three Ravens, 

“There were three ravens sat on a tree, 

Downe a downe, hay downe, hay downe, 

There were three ravens sat on a tree, 

With a downe, 

There were three ravens sat on a tree, 

They were as black as they might be, 

With a downe derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe 

The one of them said unto his mate, 

‘Where shall we our breakfast take?’ 

‘Down in yonder green field 

There lies a knight slain under his shield. 

‘His hounds they lie down at his feet, 

So well they can their master keep. 

‘His hawks they flie so eagerly 
There is no fowl dare come him nigh.’ 

Down there comes a fallow doe, 

As great with young as she might goe. 

She lifted up his bloody head, 

And kist his wounds that were so red. 

She got him up upon her back, 

And carried him to earthen lak. 1 

1 shroud. 

[38] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


She buried him before the prime, 

She was dead herself before evensong time. 

God send every gentleman 

Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman. 1,, 

The tune to which the Jongleur sang the ballad 
was half chant and half melody, admirably fitted 
to express the quaint sentiment. He sang the 
witching refrain after all the couplets, and its last 
line he gave with a “retard” and “hold” effect 
upon every word. The rich quality of his voice 
gave it the effect of a lullaby, sung to put the soul 
of the dead knight to sleep. 

For a moment silence fell upon the company, 
then hearty applause brought a bow from the Jong- 
leur in which the gay feather in his hat swept the 
ground. He moved towards the balcony, and the 
retainers, doubtless thinking him about to enter 
the house, loitered off towards the barnyard, led 
by sturdy Martin Reeve and Ralph Shepherd. 

Sir William and his guests came down to meet 
the Jongleur, and Guilbert put into his hand a gold 
coin. 

“Have you news under your hat?” said Sir 
William. “Will the villeins revolt? What gather 
you on your travels? ” 

The Jongleur’s face fell grave, and he replied 
soberly, “Aye, my men, the country is in a bad 
way. Everywhere men are hungry. They growl 
in the fields, munching barley bread, herding hogs 

» sweetheart. 

[39] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


better-fed than themselves. Misery has been with 
them so long that they could hardly live without it. 
There will be a blaze ere long. Blood will flow, 
skulls will crack, the torch will become a sword, 
and mayhap a king will be toppled off his throne.” 
The man’s gaiety was all gone, and his face looked 
the woe he spoke for others. 

“Think you our Green Devil heads the villeins’ 
cause hereabouts? ” queried Scrivener. 

The Jongleur shook his head sharply. “Nay! 
Nay! That’s a lie. Likelier he is one of the op- 
pressors,” he answered. 

“Abide at the Manor House awhile, Sir Jongleur. 
Mayhap together we may plan to mend mat- 
ters.” 

“Nay, good Sir William, I can but eat your bread 
and lie in your bed tonight. Tomorrow we make 
the Barton ferry, and thence on to York. Tonight 
only; but gladly tonight. But suffer me first to 
sing a stable ditty to the fellows below your salt,” 
waving his hand to where the retainers lolled among 
the ricks. “Then will I talk an arm off for you, 
if you will! ” 

Sir William laughed. The Jongleur tripped 
lightly across the courtyard, Sir William and Scri- 
vener entered the house, and Guilbert fell to exam- 
ining the “knight-a-hawking,” the gay colors of 
whose attire was, stitch by stitch, appearing on 
the tapestry, under the magic touches of Heloise’s 
needle. 

“You like it? ” queried Heloise. 

[40] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“ ’Tis beautiful,” Guilbert answered, and the 
Lady Wellham smiled. 

From the barnyard there wafted to the balcony 
sounds of hilarity. Snatches of sundry camp and 
ale house ditties indicated that the men were in a 
high key of glee. The jolly laughter and the songs 
Guilbert heard. But he did not hear a sort of 
mysterious password which the Jongleur whispered 
into the ear of Martin Reeve, and which that man 
passed in like manner to his neighbor, and so on 
until the secret word was the possession of all. 
Guilbert heard the men slapping each other on the 
back. Then they broke forth into the popular 
Miller-song, the baritone of the Jongleur leading. 

Presently the Jongleur returned across the court- 
yard. Guilbert met him at the foot of the balcony 
steps. As they ascended to the balcony the Jong- 
leur covertly whispered into Guilbert’s ear, “Tues- 
day of the full moon, midnight in the glen. Fail 
not.” 

It was the self-same sign that had raised the 
Miller-song in the barnyard. 


[41] 


«' 


CHAPTER IV. THE OLD, OLD STORY 



CHAPTER IV 


THE OLD , OLD STORY 

IN WHICH A MAN PUTS A CERTAIN ANCIENT QUESTION 
IN A NOVEL WAY, WITH RESULTS SUFFICIENTLY 
UNSATISFACTORY, ONE WOULD IMAGINE, TO DIS- 
COURAGE FURTHER EXPERIMENT 

As Lady Wellham followed the Jongleur into the 
hall she remarked that the air was chilly. But 
the witching twilight lured Guilbert and Heloise 
to stay outdoors, for to them the air was delight- 
fully fresh, while it was so close in the house! 
Keeping step they crossed the courtyard together, 
and a rustic wicket, almost hidden by vines that 
clambered over its archway, received them into the 
garden, where they traversed the clean gravel 
paths between trim hedges of dwarf boxwood that 
wound among the flower beds. 

On lazy wing, a cuckoo bore his plaintive note 
from tree to tree. “What an uninspiring subject 
for poetry! ” exclaimed Guilbert, as they watched 
the bird’s heavy flight. When the bird alighted 
in the top of a tree and produced his two notes 
with a marked stutter, Guilbert laughed, and 
added, “His song, too, falls short of even suggest- 
ing poetry! ” 

“He is a lazy fellow, plaintive, and woefully 
dishonest!” Heloise answered. “But, hark you! 

[45 1 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Here is our throstle, and he is the veritable king of 
songsters,” she added, as they seated themselves 
on the rustic bench by the fountain, while from a 
near-by holly a throstle flooded the garden with the 
marvel of his song. 

They listened awhile with breathless interest, and 
then Guilbert exclaimed, “ ’Tis perfect! Were it 
a little later in the evening he might be taken for 
a nightingale. The plainer the feather, the sweeter 
the song. ” 

They watched the fish play in the fountain, and 
the ripple of dripping water fell dreamily upon their 
ears. 

“The music of the Three Ravens haunts me,” 
said Guilbert, sitting close to Heloise on the bench. 
“The Jongleur sang it right well. You English 
love war. How the ballad stirred your archers! 
That rugged whelp of war, old Martin Reeve, 
gripped his hand as though it held a bow, and his 
eye fired while the Jongleur sang. But you Eng- 
lish play a losing game in these interminable French 
wars. In course of time, the French and English 
crowns must become independent of each other. 
On this side the channel I notice that a new tongue 
is forming, and my France becomes more national 
every day. Your Chaucer, Langland, and Wyclif 
vex scholars with this new trick of writing in the 
vulgar vernacular. Believe me, your vernacular 
will outlast your Latin, and in time French will 
only be spoken in France. I’ll warrant that, in 
time, language will prove to be a more efficient bar- 

[46] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


rier between the two countries than is the choppy 
channel! ’Twere better if the fight could be 
ended.” 

“I like not war,” Heloise responded, a touch of 
sadness in her voice. ‘‘Bitterness lies behind its 
pomp, and every victory means somebody’s defeat. 
Yet was I all but cradled on a shield, and war fills 
our English world. The plow is irksome to our 
men, and weeds thrive where grain should ripen. 
The blast of a bugle clears our fields of men better 
than harvest-wains clear the same fields of shocks 
— and the easier bugle does the work more quickly, 
and, moreover, leaves no gleanings! In these days 
we beat our plowshares into swords, rather than 
the reverse, which our good Abbot Thomas says 
we should do. My father would rather wear the 
sword in his lifetime and at his death be covered 
with his shield, like the knight in the ballad, than be 
my lord the Primate. Some evil spirit must have 
sown our land with dragon teeth, for armed men 
is the only sure crop we raise! I like it not. It 
sickens me at heart. Scholars, schools, parchments, 
illuminations, are of the world I love best, and I 
like to see the acres billowy with ripening grain. 
I would rather pin favors on scholars at contests of 
nimble wit than award prizes to puissant knights at 
gorgeous tourneys. Were I a monk, I would live in 
the scriptorium, and, were it mine to give, I could 
lavish a fortune on illuminations and illuminators.” 

Her spirit highly pleased Guilbert, and he looked 
upon her with open admiration. Her mantle had 

[ 47 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


fallen from her shoulders, and the sight of a jeweled 
cross rising and falling with her bosom sent the 
blood at a quicker pace through Guilbert’s veins, 
and the low music of her voice stirred him deeply 
and mysteriously. Her reference to illuminations 
seemed to add to his pleasure. 

“Your Thornton St. John illuminates marvel- 
lously,” he said, taking up the cue. 

“He is a good man,” Heloise answered, with 
appreciation strong in her voice. “He has a good 
head, a good heart, and a cunning hand among 
the very best. Some of his work will be praised 
long after he is dead.” 

The color came to Guilbert’s face. “St. John 
is a friend I prize above many,” he said, as he drew 
a dainty parchment from his bosom. “He illumi- 
nated this text for me, and I have brought it for 
you.” 

As he spoke, Guilbert handed the parchment to 
Heloise, watching her closely the while. When her 
eye fell upon the illumination an exclamation 
escaped her lips, and her eyes danced for joy. 

“It is a gem, Guilbert,” she said, “a rare gem, 
a very rare gem! St. John did it? It is the best 
I have seen from his hand.” 

“Yes. I had St. John illuminate it for you. 
Look it over. The twilight will render its richness 
the softer. It is my chateau across the channel. 
I outlined the drawing, St. John did the wizard 
work. The little poem, Heloise, is my message 
to you. Our building at the Abbey will soon be 

[48] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


done, and then I must away. Before I go I give 
you this. Read it, and see.” 

As Guilbert spoke the parchment had fallen upon 
her lap, and as she became aware of the nature of 
its contents, her face clouded and tears came into 
her eyes. The couplets of a little poem, done in 
neat, black, geometrical letters, occupied the center 
of a page provided with generous margins. In the 
center of the top margin gleamed a French chateau, 
vignetted in grey stone, its sharp pitched roofs 
red-tiled, the great house all be-walled and be- 
moated, the drawbridge down, the portcullis up, 
the barriers thrown wide open. 

In the right upper corner of the page was painted 
the interior of a lady’s bower, but with no lady sit- 
ting therein, the cozy room waiting like an open 
cage for its bird. The chamber seemed lonely minus 
music from the lute that hung mute upon the wall, 
and song was missed from the boudoir’s open case- 
ments and laughter from its fireless hearth. Would 
that some one might take down the lute, light a fire 
on the cold hearth, and woo the spirit of love till 
it would come and haunt the boudoir! — So the pic- 
ture seemed to say. The left upper corner of the 
broad margin was illuminated with a small full- 
length portrait of Guilbert, colored to life. The 
initials of the poem were curiously drawn in red 
and green and gold, and down the broad side mar- 
gins the illuminator’s fancy had tripped fruitfully. 
Reeds rustled on the shore of a little mere, and 
birds sailed the air as though they would invade 
[ 49 ] 


4 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

the text. All this Heloise grasped with apprecia- 
tion, and then her eye fell upon the poem. This is 
what she read, with Guilbert’s eye fixed intently 
upon her face the while, 

“Knight I, with empty bower, on quest am come; 

O Lady, love, sweetheart, ride with me home. 

Knight I, in thy fair face find I my quest; 

My lady love, with me be Love’s life-guest. 

Knight I, with honor’s sword will I thee guard; 

Fair lady, love, be thou my heart’s dear ward. 

Knight I, live I the red red rose Romaunt; 

Love, thorns I’d press to kiss thy lips among. 

Knight I, sweet bells I hear o’er landscape wide; 

Old lady fair, dear love, be thou my bride.” 

It was but a crude, halting poem, but it was his 
own, and it quaintly expressed what was in his 
heart. But as Heloise perused the parchment 
Guilbert divined that his quest was in vain. Her 
eyes sought the ground, scarlet mantled her cheeks, 
and she averted her face. Guilbert sat in fear. 
He dared not speak, lest his words should render his 
case more hopeless. At length Heloise put a hand 
upon his arm, and with great tenderness she broke 
the silence. 

'‘The poem is charming,” she said, speaking 
slowly and weighing her words. “The verses are 
as lovely as St. John’s embellishment of them. 
But, Guilbert, I pray you forgive me, for I fear 

[50] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


that I have done you wrong. It was thoughtless 
of me not to have seen long ago whereunto our 
comradeship might lead. The selfishness of my 
enjoyment blinded me, I fear — ” 

Guilbert put up his hand as though to hush her 
words. 

“Nay; I must tell you, now,” she continued. 
“There must be no further misunderstanding 
between us. Greatly have I enjoyed your compan- 
ionship while you have been at Thornton. From 
the outside world you have brought me generous 
portions of the things I love. I have almost lived 
in Europe while you have been here. But I must 
be honest with you, and also with myself. I do 
not love you; I cannot love you; what you ask is 
impossible.” 

“But — ” pleaded Guilbert, earnestly. 

“No; no, Guilbert. It is no use. Love is a thing 
by itself, and I know my heart. Honor, respect, 
admiration, companionship of the mere intellect, 
these you have had of me, and thefee you may still 
have, if you will, but nothing more, nothing deeper, 
nothing higher, none of what you most want. 
We have been good comrades of the head, but our 
hearts have not touched, and you know that love 
is of the heart much more than it is of the head. 
I fear that my thoughtlessness has allowed me 
unconsciously to stir the passion in you when it 
had no place in myself. I do not love you, Guilbert 
de Rouen, therefore to your poem I must say nay.” 

“Hear me, Heloise, Mine is true love, and it is 
[ 51 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


of that within me which has given you the pleasure 
you acknowledge. I am not moved by the acci- 
dentals. Not for your face do I love you, nor for 
your rank, but for your very self. Your alert 
mind, your sympathetic heart, your great soul — 
you yourself have entered into me, and already you 
are a part of my life. Come a little farther, and be 
my wife. Let us henceforth live our lives wholly 
together.” 

“Friend Guilbert,” answered Heloise, in superb 
command of herself, and with evident concern 
lest what she said should further wound instead 
of heal. “Freely I will tell you that your ideal 
of love is mine. Did I love you as you love me I 
would away with you to France, and doubtless we 
would be happy. But, you know that I follow the 
ideal. Short of my vision, even for my poor self, 
I dare not stop. Until love awake in me, divine, 
regnant, according to my ideal, and also accord- 
ing to yours, I must remain unwed. It would be a 
grave injustice to us both for me to wed you, drawn 
to you by less than the very highest love. We 
could never be even seemingly happy, not to speak 
of the ideal happiness which belongs to the wedded 
life. In the end it would slay the soul of us both. 
We should sink to the level of the beasts, being 
wedded merely physically. Neither of us would 
venture on that experience. Though it hurts you 
sorely, truly I must say nay, and must say it firmly, 
and for good. — The dew is falling, and the air 
grows chilly. I must in to the house,” and, as 
[ 52 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


she arose from the bench she gave the parchment 
back to Guilbert. 

Her loveless words chilled Guilbert. For him 
the magic slipped from the twilight, the music 
departed from the ripple of the fountain, and the 
garden lost its charm. “Nay, nay, my Lady 
Heloise,” he urged, and, bending on one knee, he 
gave the parchment back into her hand. “Keep 
it for the sake of the art, if not for my sake. You 
will not banish me from your friendship? Let the 
roll betoken that which we have enjoyed since I 
have been in Thornton. It will pledge me your 
unrequited knight. You may love another, yet 
will I remain true to your service.” 

“Truly, I love no other,” hastily protested 
Heloise. “That note has not yet been struck in 
my life, and perhaps it never will be struck.” A 
moment or two she mused, then she turned to 
Guilbert and added: “Yes, I will keep the illumina- 
tion as an unneeded pledge of your chivalry. 
We may be friends still, but I am afraid that you 
will find that hard, and in the end I fear that we 
must drift apart.” 

Guilbert caught eagerly at her words. “I will 
be silent,” he said. “On the matter of love, as silent 
as the grave; and you shall be free — as free as love 
itself.” For a moment neither spoke. The foun- 
tain trickled in the failing twilight, and laughter 
wafted down to them from the kitchen where the 
domestics made merry. 

A great sadness was in her voice when she an- 

[53] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


swered. “Guilbert,” she said, weighing her words 
with deliberation. “ Quite certain am I that it 
were better for us that we should part, here and now. 
I feel more than I can put into words. I would 
spare you, if I could. To hold to a lost cause is to 
live only through dark and hopeless days. I can 
never love you — ” 

“Then let us be the good friends we were before 
I spoke,” Guilbert broke in upon her. “And let 
us not raise between us this barrier of words. 
Your silent, and your hopeless knight will I be.” 

At length Heloise spoke. “My friendship will 
I give, even as I have. But it can grow to nothing 
more,” she said, and something strangely like tears 
lurked in her eyes and in her voice. She reached 
out her hand, and reverently Guilbert raised it 
to his lips. 

“Grant me a final boon,” he pleaded as he held 
her hand. 

“And what may that be?” she queried, and the 
unconscious humor that lurked in his request 
almost brought a smile to her face. 

Guilbert was quiet, and grave, and earnest, when 
he answered. “In these troubled times one never 
knows what may happen,” he said. “Promise me 
this. Should it happen that you need my help in 
any matter whatsoever, promise to call on me, 
even as though I had that right to protect you which 
I have sought this day, and which you have 
refused.” 

“You are a brave, generous man,” she an- 

[54] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


swered, and her voice trembled with emotion. 
Then there came to her mind the strange jumble 
of the times — the stolen will, the mystery of the 
Green Devil, and the villeins’ revolt which wise- 
acres prophesied. Out of such threatening, what 
storms might arise? She felt that, somehow or 
other, her fortune was involved in the outcome of 
these events. She might need the assistance of a 
strong arm. Then she spoke the words which, all 
his protesting to the contrary notwithstanding, 
came to Guilbert as a faint ray of hope. 

“Guilbert, ” she said. “I will surely do it. 
In need, I will call upon you, my generous friend.” 

Slowly they came up the garden path. The 
shadows had fallen, both within and without. 
The little wicket creaked on its hinges as Guilbert 
opened it on their way out of the garden. At the 
door of the house Guilbert excused himself when 
Heloise would have had him enter as of yore, and 
there, with a heavy heart, he bade her a good night. 

Guilbert took the bridle rein from the groom, 
but was in no mood to mount, so he led his horse 
over the drawbridge and out into the woods. A 
nightingale flung its song out into the night from 
a thicket near the pathway, but Guilbert did not 
hear. He almost collided with Abbot Thomas in 
the road as the Abbot was walking toward the 
Manor House, and so mastered by his defeat was 
Guilbert that he barely apologized for his rudeness, 
or even recognized the man he had met. He walked 
toward Thornton as in a dream. Unconsciously 

[55] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he wandered a few yards from the beaten path, 
and there he came upon Dean Fletcher, who was 
hugging the shadows as he stole upon his way, 
also toward the Manor House. It needed the 
second monk to remind Guilbert that he had met 
the first. When Guilbert spoke Dean Fletcher 
good night, that worthy answered something inar- 
ticulate, and passed on, and Guilbert promptly 
forgot that he had met monks that night. He 
had not yet regained the path which he had heed- 
lessly forsaken, when Dwarf Henry dodged by him 
in the brush, and passed on in the wake of the two 
monks, without word or sign. But Guilbert was 
too stunned to see, or rightly to note what he saw. 
The three curious events came not together in 
his mind, and so he came to his room at the Sara- 
cen’s Head. 


[56 


CHAPTER V. THE PEOPLE’S PLAINT 




* 


CHAPTER V 


THE PEOPLES PLAINT 

IN WHICH FEAST AND PLOT TOGETHER, HOLD THE 
STAGE, AND VILLEINS PLAN TO BETTER THEIR 
SAD CASE 

When the full moon almost obliterated the short 
summer night, mine host, Tom Danby of the Sara- 
cen’s Head, knocked gently at the door of Guil- 
bert’s room, at an hour when the last customer had 
drifted from the bar, and the honest village lay 
asleep. Answering the summons so promptly that 
one might judge he must have been expecting it, 
Guilbert de Rouen joined Danby in the hallway, 
and the two stole quietly towards the outer door 
of the inn. 

The two men hugged the shadows down the 
street. At the fork of the road near the Manor 
House they halted. A low whistle from Danby 
awoke an echo under the lea of the big house, and a 
moment or two later Martin Reeve and Ralph 
Shepherd fell in behind Guilbert and mine host, and 
the quartette silently took the trail into the forest. 

Half an hour later a noble buck loped across the 
path in an open glade. Silently as the fall of dew, 
Martin and Ralph slipped into cover, and instinc- 
tively Guilbert and Danby halted breathless where 

[59] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


they stood. “We shall have venison for the Broth- 
erhood tonight,” quoth Danby under his breath. 

Five minutes had barely passed when a shrill 
whistle signalled from the wood. Guilbert and 
Danby plunged into the coppice. In a little ravine 
they came upon the Nimrods gloating over their 
quarry. Two arrows still quivered behind the 
deer’s shoulder. It was but the work of a few 
minutes for these wood-wise men to dress the deer. 
Then they slung the carcass on a stout sapling, and, 
spelling each other as they needed, they bore it 
with them on their march. 

About midnight, the party was challenged by two 
armed men, who demanded of them the counter- 
sign. “Christ’s friends and the poor,” answered 
Guilbert, and at the significant words the sentries’ 
spears dropped. Half a mile beyond the sentinels, 
the timber fell away into an amphitheatre-like 
glade, down which a little stream made music. 

The glade swarmed with men. It seemed as 
though Guilbert’s party had suddenly come upon a 
midnight fairyland. Men were everywhere. As 
they reclined on the grass some slept, others sat in 
groups on boulders and fallen logs, kept awake by 
earnest conversation; still others strolled about the 
glade in twos and threes; and here and there a 
leather jerkin or a russet smock, perched on a con- 
venient log, addressed his fellows in fiery speech. 
Near two hundred men were already in the glade, 
and new-comers constantly added to the number. 

A man advanced to meet Guilbert. “ I’m captain 

[60] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


of the district in the People’s Cause. My name’s 
La Rue, Guilliame La Rue. Welcome here, Guil- 
bert de Rouen. We need such as you. This is a 
prophecy of things to come,” said he, sweeping his 
hand over the glade. 

“ Is it secret? ” queried Guilbert. “How can you 
gather such numbers without the thing being known? 
Men-at-arms will break you up.” * 

“It is the people that rise,” La Rue answered 
promptly, “and the people can keep their secret. 
But were this known, not a hand would lift in the 
county to betray us, except perhaps among the 
crown officers, and many of them be with us at 
heart. But, not a word is abroad. The county 
is dotted with such gatherings tonight. You must 
meet Brother Barr,” La Rue added, as one dressed 
in the russet of Wyclif’s Poor Priests came up. 
“Brother Barr, this is Guilbert de Rouen, of 
whom I told you, and who is with us in the 
Cause.” 

The stranger held out his hand cordially. Guil- 
bert eyed the man narrowly. 

“Have we not met before? ” he asked quizzically. 
Then his face lighted. “By sonties,” he exclaimed, 
shaking the extended hand heartily. “The Jon- 
gleur! Well! Weil! Belong you to the Cause?” 

“Aye, long before you,” replied the russet priest. 
“Right glad am I to see you, sir. Kent has 
overflowed into Lincolnshire. Until tonight I 
feared that Lincolnshire would lag. I’m glad you 
brought meat. Already we have three deer and a 
[ 61 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

beef, — enough for a feast and fragments to take 
home.” 

By a huge crackling fire men roasted spits of 
venison and beef. Among the men who thronged 
the glen the rough, stolid, hunger-pinched type of 
face prevailed. Most, though not all, were of the 
villeinage and were russet-clad. Neighboring towns 
contributed to the gathering not a few turbulent 
apprentices. A few men, like Guilbert de Rouen, 
were present not because they had ills of their own 
crying for remedy, but by reason of their sympathy 
with the poor. They were the natural leaders of 
the revolt, and unto them Guilbert straightway 
joined himself. 

“People mistake Green Devil for an agent of the 
People’s Cause,” said Guilbert. 

The leaders protested vehemently. 

“He’s as damnable a mystery to us as to the rest 
of the world,” answered Brother Barr. “An we 
catch him, we’ll hang him to a tree and stick him 
full of arrows. He blasts the cause with his lust 
and violence, and maltreats poor and rich, men and 
women, young and old alike. He’s only for him- 
self! ” 

The roasts were done, rich, brown, and of a savory 
smell. As by magic appeared oaten cakes and bar- 
ley loaves, rye bread and baked beans. La Rue 
made the people sit down on the grass. Forth- 
with the feast was served, minus a good many con- 
diments the rich constantly enjoyed, but plus beef 
and venison above the common lot of the poor. 

[62] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Food loosened the villeins’ tongues, and many a tale 
of distress found expression about the roaring fire. 

The plaint of the Keelby Patriarch, soon distin- 
guished itself to Guilbert’s ear. At first the old 
man did but talk to his elbow-fellow by the fire. 
But the horror of the ancient’s tale soon raised his 
voice and stilled neighboring tongues, and ere he 
had finished he was unconsciously pouring his woe 
into the public ear. 

“Well, ye all know,” he was saying when first 
Guilbert distinguished his voice among the rest. 
“Me an’ Betty have been Keelby Manor thralls 
these fifty years or more. I was born on the place. 
When the old lord came to die, somehow his heart 
softened. He gave us little bits of parchment that 
said we was free. They were tiny scratchments 
splotched with red. The priest who clerked them 
said the red was the seal that made the scratch- 
ment so it would stand against the lawyers. Well, 
we lived on in the old cot just the same — Betty an’ 
me, an’ Jack, an’ Will, an’ Jim. We worked for 
the young master just as we used to do for him that 
was gone. Only he paid us a little bit of wage, an’ 
we wore no collar, but was free to come and go if 
ever the work was done. The little cot looked fine 
those days when we wore no man’s collar. Our 
wages were but little, but they sort of kept the wolf 
from the door. 

“Then came the Plague a-killing off poor folk. 
Both villeins and free men became scarce — so many 
were dead, piled in pits an’ covered with dirt. By 

[63] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the holy mass, Gabriel will have a big job with them 
heaps of dead uns! Why, more poor folks was 
buried than the priests could say masses for. So 
many were dead that few were left to delve and 
plow and sow, and good harvests rotted because 
there were too few to reap. 

“Somehow we lost the scrap of parchment with 
the red splotch, worse luck for it. Jack swore that 
the Reeve had thieved it so he could get the collar 
on our necks again. There’s deviltry enough in 
law and lawyers to thieve rest from the dead, and 
heaven from the saints. Anyhow, the young lord 
swore that we never had been free, and he made 
us work again without any wages. 

“We talked back and forth, hot-headed, the young 
lord and us. Holy Mother, we had no chance, 
because he was rich and we was poor. About that 
time, tip comes the tax gatherer for the poll tax. 
That looks as if we was free, doesn’t it? Villeins 
pay no tax any more than the other cattle do. 
It’s seven or eight months past now, an’ I wish 
it was years. The tax man wanted more than 
we could save from rye bread and beans in a whole 
year. I up an’ told him we couldn’t pay. He 
threapped that we could and would, or there would 
be the devil to pay. 

“An’ Annie — that’s Jack’s little wench, an’ her 
mother died of the Plague, God rest her poor soul 
— was a-sitting in the chimney corner, a-huddled 
up because she was so afraid of the roystering 
man. The devil leered at the wench — you know 

[64] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


how — an’ he says, says he, ‘Maybe Blue Eyes 
with the gold hair will pay me the tax ! ’ An’ he 
made as if he would lay his foul hands upon her. 
Whereupon Jack, he up and grabs the foul devil 
by the collar and flung him out into the yard. I 
thought he had broken his back against the fence. 
We all trembled for what was likely to follow, but 
none of us would have had him stay his hand. It 
was good to see the leering devil shot out of the 
door. 

“Mad as a wet hen, the tax man went straight- 
way to the Manor House to sue us for the poll tax. 
In the afternoon the constable came with what he 
called a warrant. He clapped the shackles on the 
four of us and haled us before the young lord. At 
the Manor House they seemed to forget all about 
the poll tax. The lawyers brought it in that we 
were villeins to the Manor. They had parchments 
there to show it! We had lost ours! Mayhap, ours 
was among theirs! Never had we been free, they 
said, and we now owed the young lord all the money 
he had wrongfully paid us for wages. So they 
clapped us all into the dungeon that night, and 
Betty and Annie were left in the cot alone.” 

The recollection broke the old man as upon a 
wheel, and his voice choked with sobs. An ominous 
stillness had seized the villeins and they held their 
breath for the old man to continue. At length the 
Patriarch pulled himself together and went on 
with his story. 

“Early in the morning they opened the dungeon 

[65] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


door. With the hateful collar once again on our 
necks we went out. But we minded not the collar 
then. We made straight for the cot, Jack leading 
with long strides, all of us hot with rage and fear. 
We found the door battered down, and we feared 
to go in. But after a moment or two we entered. 
Betty, dear old Betty, we found gagged and tied 
to a chair. We sprang to unbind her, but she 
motioned her head to a corner where it was 
dark. 

“ There we found Annie — poor little Annie with 
the golden hair and laughing blue eyes, all but dead, 
and fearful to look upon. We never thought that 
she could live. Secretly we were glad that she could 
not live to know the shame. But Providence is 
mighty queer! She began to mend. Then we 
fell to praying to the blessed Virgin that she might 
die, and the old priest said that verily ’twas not a 
wicked prayer, because it was the prayer of love and 
Annie was surely better dead than alive. 

“Jack was wild with grief and rage. Next day, 
when we did not know whether the little wench 
would die or live, Jack went out and slew the tax- 
gatherer, right out in the open where everybody 
could see him, and no one in the street put forth a 
hand to stay him. For everybody knew right well 
that Twas the tax man who had done the damnable 
thing. 

“ Poor little Annie had not yet stood upon her 
feet when officers of Justice (God save the mark!) 
came and gibbetted Jack at the cross roads. And 
[ 66 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


there he hangs today, 0 my brothers, a villein no 
longer, wearing no man’s collar, but food for crows! 
Thank God, the rusty chain collar about his neck 
makes him nobody’s slave. But, 0 my brothers, 
there be wrongs to right and perchance to die for! 
Anon there will be another mouth for rye and beans 
in our poor cot, and another slave will have been 
born into the wicked world. O Lord! how long till 
the day of retribution do come; till the people break 
away from the yoke of bondage! ” 

The old man collapsed with the end of his plaint, 
and there burst from the throng words not lawful 
to write, but which, translated into the king’s 
English, meant that the Day of the Lord was nigh, 
and that it would be a day of retribution for wrong- 
doers in England. 

Then, with a fallen log for his rostrum, Guilbert 
de Rouen told the people of the Jacquerie uprising 
in France, — how it was put down most ruthlessly, 
and gibbets were more numerous than crows, and 
that the rising failed because the poeple were 
headless and hasty and had not yet learned to act 
together. Time was now come in England, he 
said, when men should profit by the French failure 
and not court new failure, when peasants should 
organize, should be obedient to chosen chiefs, 
should subordinate private feud to public good, and 
should be true brothers and brave. When villeins 
got the upper hand, as they surely would, they 
must not be cruel and vengeful, but must show 
mercy, so that all the land should come to happi- 

[67] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


ness, and no man, be he rich or poor, should have 
cause to fear his brother or the law. 

A fierce buzz of conversation ensued upon the 
close of Guilbert’s speech, and the greater part 
of his auditors doubted whether the speaker were 
friend or foe. It was the russet priest who saved 
the situation. From a lute hung about his neck he 
drew plaintive chords, and the strains of music 
fastened all eyes upon the player and silenced all 
tongues. From a large boulder the priest com- 
manded his audience, and, accompanying himself 
on the lute, he began, half chant and half melody, 
the popular people’s ditty: 

“John Ball greeteth you all, 

And would you understand he hath rung your bell. 

Now Right and Might, Will and Skill, 

God speed you every one.” 

The effect was immediate and marvelous. In- 
stantly, at the mention of John Ball, his whole 
audience sprang to foot and came to ear. The 
russet troubador continued, strumming his lute 
by way of interlude: 

“Help Truth, and Truth shall help you, 

Now reigneth Pride in price, 

And Covetice is counted wise, 

And Lechery withouten shame, 

And Glutteny withouten blame, 

Envy reigneth with treason, 

And Sloth is taken in great season. 

God do bote: for now ‘tis time.” 

The glen rang with applause. Then, Martin 
Reeve leading, every man joined in singing the 
[ 68 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


stanza. When the men ceased singing Brother 
Barr struck up the Miller’s Song, the most popular 
ditty of the Cause, and instantly every man was 
with him, singing as though for dear life. 

The priest swung his lute behind his back, and 
put forth his hand to calm the multitude that he 
might speak. 

‘‘My good people,” he began. “Things are in 
a bad way in merrie England, and are likely to go 
worse till we mend them. Poll tax and labor laws, 
rogue lawyers and wicked priests, rape and murder 
commoner than pennies, awful sin in high places 
and hunger among the poor, make the times hard 
and men miserable. Something is to be done, 
and we are to do it. Things cannot go thus forever. 
Goods and lands should be held by the people in 
common. There should be no villeins, and no 
gentlemen or nobles. Tell me, my brothers, how 
are the lords of the land more men than we? 
They were born as we, and as we shall they die, 
and you cannot tell their dust from ours. Of one 
father and mother came we all, and to one great 
family we all belong. 

‘ When Adam delved and Eve span, 

Who then, pray, was gentleman?’ 

“The good book saith we be all brethren. Why 
should they be clothed in velvet, and their blood- 
brothers go in rags? Should their tables groan, 
and we have no tables at all, but eat oaten cakes 
and coarse beans out of horny hands, and drink 
only of the wayside stream? I tell you, my broth- 

[69] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

ers, of your unrequited toil comes all they have. 
But for you they would be worse off than you. 
Their feet are out of the mire because they stand 
daintily on your shoulders. 

“But there comes a new time — a time of the 
People’s banded Brotherhood. Nobles have long 
been banded. Now let the people band, and stand 
or fall together. When the word is passed, Kent 
is ready to rise. We have to hold them back till 
the other counties be ready, lest they go on alone, 
so eager are they for the fray. 

“ Old John Wyclif is surely with us. He does not 
so announce, for, perhaps, that were bad policy. 
But his preachers preach with us, and teach the 
people of the same brotherhood and rule of right- 
ness. We have friends, too, high at court and 
castle. But on them we do not depend. What is 
done must be done by the people who have suffered. 

“But, brothers, you must be patient. We must 
all be patient, *’ — and he turned significantly to 
the leaders. “We must learn the lesson Guilbert 
de Rouen just taught us. What he said about the 
French rising was all too true, and we must profit 
by it. Our rising can hardly be until spring. Till 
then you must lie still. Show not your discontent. 
Suffer silently. Follow toil as before. Give the 
king’s officers no hold on you by any breaking of the 
law. Make no disturbance. Live blamelessly. 
But hold yourselves ready for the passing of the 
word. Till that time comes I ask you,” — and the 
speaker’s tones became grave and his manner most 
[ 70 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


solemn— “I ask you, men, brothers, brother suf- 
ferers; will you be ready to join the men of Kent 
when spring-time comes?” 

As one man the assembly sent back the answer, 
“Aye, we will be ready,” with such hearty good 
will that Guilbert’s latent fears for the success of 
the movement were allayed, and he cheered with 
the rest. Then the men in the glen embraced, 
and kissed, and slapped each other on the back, 
and pledged each the other for the revolt. 

A messenger strode out of the woods from the 
sentinel east of the glen and sought La Rue. After 
brief conference one of the group winded a horn 
lightly, and the pickets ran in. In a few words 
La Rue published the news. The Sheriff of Lin- 
coln and a strong posse held the Thornton road, 
but they evidently had no knowledge of the meeting. 
They were hot upon the trail of the Green Devil, 
who had again broken out, and who was likely to 
be caught this time. At this fair prospect the men 
cheered; for rape, and murder, and theft, and arson, 
were no part of the people’s plot for liberty. 

The company melted away into the forest as it 
had gathered. Guilbert lingered for a parting 
word with Barr and La Rue. 

“ I would you might have the spies keep an open 
eye for the stolen will,” he said. “ ’Tis likely 
that some gipsy or huckster band have it in pos- 
session, and will try to sell it to the Abbey, being 
Green Devil’s go-between. ’Twere worth a splin- 
tered head or two to gain that parchment. I’ll 

[ 71 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


reward the man who runs the parchment down, 
and Sir William will not be less grateful.” 

‘Til pass the word along,” responded La Rue. 
“Sir William is so nearly of us that ’twould be a 
good stroke of policy to make him debtor to our 
cause. The spies shall be on the watch.” 

Just before Guilbert’s party reached the Thorn- 
ton road, homeward bound, they heard a horse 
gallop by at a killing pace. No sooner had the 
road been reached than there were signs of horse- 
men behind them, and presently they were over- 
taken by the Sheriff and a posse of full twenty 
men. 

“Guilbert de Rouen, you are an early riser,” 
cried the Sheriff, spurring ahead of his party to the 
side of the pedestrians. 

“You too, Sir Sheriff, sleep not late,” replied 
Guilbert. “The early hunt is the best. Our bag 
will be full ere the sun heat the woods. Let me 
present you with game.” 

At a motion from Guilbert, Martin dove his hand 
into the game pouch, and, somewhat reluctantly, 
drew therefrom a brace of woodcocks, and made as 
if to hand them to the Sheriff. 

“Nay, nay, good Guilbert, we have no time this 
morn for game or sportsmen. We have trailed 
the Green Devil since midnight, and are hot upon 
the scent. We came close upon him at Brocklesby. 
At Ulceby his gang broke up, and the leader struck 
out north, riding hard a dapple grey. He rode by 
here not long ago. See, here is his trail. He was 

[72] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


riding furiously. We’ll catch him yet and feed his 
carrion to the crows — ” 

“Now, who comes here,” continued the Sheriff, 
scanning the road ahead towards Thornton. 

“ ’Tis but Dean Fletcher of the Abbey, Sir 
Sheriff. — Good morn to you, Dean Fletcher, you are 
astir early,” answered Guilbert, between the Dean 
and the Sheriff. 

“Sickness and the mortal peril of a soul call me 
forth, Guilbert mine,” answered the priest. Then 
turning to the horsemen he lifted his hand con- 
ventionally and pronounced the word, Benedicite , 
and added, “Fare you well, and may your morning 
ride be pleasant.” He tucked his hands again 
into his sleeves across his bosom, and strode by the 
cavalcade, upon his ghostly mission. 

Turning in his saddle the Sheriff called after him. 
“Sir Dean, have you seen any a-foot this morning? 
We pursue the outlaw known as the Green Devil. He 
rode by here but a little while ago on a dapple grey. 
Saw you any one a-saddle or a-foot as you came?” 

“No, Sir Sheriff,” answered the priest, turning 
in the middle of the road beyond the cavalcade. 
“I met no one between here and the Abbey gate.” 
Then he turned to continue his journey, his eyes 
cast meditatively upon the ground. He had not 
gone more than a score of steps before he turned 
again and called back, “Said you your fugitive 
rode a dapple grey?” 

“Aye, that he did. Saw you aught of man or 
horse?” 


[73] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Now I bethink me,” answered the monk, “ I 
did see a horse grazing by the road a little beyond 
the corner yonder. Aye, and the beast was grey.” 
Then Father Fletcher passed on to give the conso- 
lation of the church to the dying. 

Very quickly the Sheriff spread his posse into the 
woods on either flank of the road. A little beyond 
the bend, the Sheriff and Guilbert came upon the 
dapple grey. But she was not grazing. The 
beast stood stock still, dripping sweat, her nose 
on the ground, tricklets of blood running from her 
nostrils, trembling in every limb like an aspen leaf. 
Guilbert sickened at the sight. 

“The devil left her here less than ten minutes 
ago,” cried the Sheriff. “He can not have gone 
far away. “He’s trapped at last — Men! see to 
your bows and scour the woods.” 

But there was mystery to unravel. The rider 
of the grey horse had seemingly vanished into 
thin air, and left behind not a single clue. 


1 74] 


CHAPTER VI A FAMILY TUTOR 


CHAPTER VI 


A FAMILY TUTOR 

WHEREIN THE READING OF AN ANCIENT ROMANCE 
PROVOKES SLY YOUNG CUPID TO PUSH ON TO 
DANGEROUS GROUND TWO WHO BELONG TO THIS 
STORY 

When the August sun had bronzed the standing 
grain, and the sickles of the villeinage were reaping 
harvest, Thomas de Gretham, Abbot of Saint 
Mary’s at Thornton, was seated one afternoon in 
the oak room of the Manor House. He toyed 
absent-mindedly with a book on the table near 
which he sat. Too familiar was he with the apart- 
ment to be entertained by the storied tapestry 
which draped the walls. Through the open lattices 
the August sun flooded the room with light. 
Droning bees, the twitter of birds in the shrubbery, 
the bleating of sheep in the paddock, the low buzz 
of conversation among the peasants working in 
the garden — none of these things touched him as 
he sat waiting. He lay back comfortably in his 
chair, simply waiting for something or somebody, 
and while he waited his mind wandered in dream- 
land, oblivious of the work-a-day world in which 
his body dwelt. 

The Abbot of St. Mary’s was a man of striking 
appearance, well-groomed with good fortune. The 
[ 77 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

stooping shoulders of the scholar were draped with 
the habit of an Austin Canon. His intellectual 
face was plump and hearty with good nature, and 
smiled with a cheeriness which seemed to be the 
device by which the good world within the man was 
introduced to the good world without. From his 
mother’s breasts he had drawn into his nature the 
select instincts of castled nobility. A private 
tutor had guided him through such education as 
the times afforded to sons of wealth, and when the 
youth awakened intellectually, it was with a keen 
avidity to know and feel the good world into which 
he had been propitiously born. The Church stood 
beside the Castle, and the sword or the crosier was 
the only weapon with which a man might carve 
out distinction for himself. The knighthood of the 
heart and intellect appealed successfully to the 
young man, and, looking crosierward, he entered 
the Church. There birth, and brains, and friends 
had brought him to the fat Abbacy of Thornton 
while the morning of life was still strong in his soul. 
He had taken to the religious life as a duck takes 
to water. His vows of chastity and honor he had 
faithfully kept. He was a thoroughly good man, 
and he had won a good man’s mead of friends 
and enemies. 

Abbot Thomas’s rule at Thornton had at first 
brought harmony and prosperity to the founda- 
tion. All had been well until these later days 
when there had developed in the Abbey a Fletcher 
faction, restive under the high-minded and strictly 
[ 78 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


religious rule of Abbot Thomas. This faction had 
dimly hoped for relief in the ascendency of Dean 
Fletcher’s influence in the Abbey — the man much 
sinned against, his friends held, who would have 
been Abbot of Thornton but for the untoward 
influences which had pushed Thomas de Gretham 
into his place. 

The door opened, and the Lady Heloise entered, 
looking fresh and beautiful. Abbot Thomas arose, 
alert and genial, and pressed into his Benedicite a 
wealth of feeling which that conventional greet- 
ing seldom bore, even on his lips. 

He motioned Heloise to a vacant chair near the 
table. “Are you tardy this morning? ” he asked 
playfully. Then he picked up a cat that rubbed 
against his gown, looked whimsically into its eyes, 
and said, “No! By sonties, timely! ’Twas my 
impatience made the time seem long! ” 

Heloise laughed at his good humor. “I came 
early purposely,” she said, “in order that I might 
speak on a certain matter before the lesson. You 
know about the stolen will that’s likely to turn us 
out of doors? ” 

“Aye! Aye! Have you caught the thief?” 

“No! Bad fortune! All’s dark. There is no 
clue. Both deed and he that took it have disap- 
peared, apparently forever.” 

“Right sorry am I. When you spoke I thought 
you had the thief. Surely I would have helped 
you hang him!” 

“Knew you that the parchment was drawn in 

[79] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


favor of the Abbey?” The Abbot nodded gravely. 
The implications involved were displeasing to him. 

Heloise continued, “Both Scrivener and Guil- 
bert de Rouen are sure the stolen parchment will 
end its adventures in the muniment room of the 
Abbey.” 

The Abbot shook his head. Very dubious was 
the whole matter to him. He had no light upon the 
subject. 

“ Is the will come to the Abbey, Abbot Thomas?” 

The directness of the question startled the Abbot, 
and its possible implications visibly embarrassed 
him. 

“ No ! No ! ” he replied vehemently. He paused , 
then added, in a hesitating tone, “Unless ’tis there, 
and I know it not.” 

Heloise questioned him with her eyes, and shortly 
he answered, — 

“The Dean, — the Dean drew up the parch- 
ment, I understand. Mayhap he has an interest 
in having his work restored to a legal footing. He 
may have dickered for the stolen deed at the gate, 
and have it unknown to me. He’s land poor and 
land hungry!” 

The Abbot curbed his impatience lest it should 
hurry him too far. In a different vein he added, 
“If the deed appears in the Abbey, knowing it to 
be false as I do, I will hand it over to Sir William 
forthwith, with my apologies that so foul an impli- 
cation should for a moment have rested upon the 
Abbey. Not a hair of your head will I harm. I 
[8o] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


despise land greed, and all other varieties of lust 
for gain. — Let’s to the lesson,” continued the Abbot, 
opening the book that lay on the table, and turning 
to the place. 

Beyond a doubt, the Abbot’s tutorship of Heloise 
was a most delightful task. It was also full of 
uncharted peril for them both. 

The Lady Heloise was no common woman. She 
was in the full bloom of compelling womanhood, 
and the impress of high-mindedness glorified her 
face. That she was totally unconscious of the 
witchery of her face and form, constituted a subtle 
element in the freshness and continual power of 
those feminine attractions. Not her face, but her 
keen, soulful intellect, was the master key of her 
character and the quality that made the tutor joy 
in his pupil, as well as the power that compelled 
Guilbert de Rouen to love the maid. 

The Abbot and Heloise had long been companions 
in the conquest of the world of Schools and School- 
men. Under the Abbot’s directing hand Heloise 
had early spurned the conventional Trivium of 
the scholastic curriculum, dwelt awhile more fruit- 
fully in the Quadrivium of the universities, then had 
passed with healthy zest into the stirring dialectics 
of the age, and she loved to cross swords with her 
tutor on the fascinating fields where Nominalism 
and Realism waged their interminable war. 

The vital questionings of Heloise, as tutor and 
pupil traversed together medieval lore, had awak- 
ened Abbot Thomas to his best intellectual self. 
[81] 

6 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Her eager nature made him long for the time when 
all mankind should be as wide awake as she. 
Unconsciously, by teaching her he was adding 
cubits to his own stature. He knew it not, but 
her intimate acquaintance with his mental life had 
put into her hands the key to his nature, and she 
was happily as ignorant as he of the power she 
wielded over him. 

In innocence and in ignorance, so childlike and 
ingenuous were their natures, the life of the intel- 
lect had joined together the hearts of Abbot Thomas 
and Heloise. They were lovers, but they knew 
it not. The Abbot was fenced from love by his 
priestly vows, and his sincere religious life had 
prevented him from interpreting his growing delight 
in his pupil as the experience of that love from which 
his vows barred him. In Heloise, maidenly rever- 
ence for the church and the inbred subordination 
of the woman to the priest, which has given ritu- 
alism its hold on woman in all ages, made thought 
of love between her and the Abbot as far from her 
mind as the east is from the west. 

So it had fallen out that for many months 
these two had actually experienced a high and 
pure love, without naming the passion or even 
dimly recognizing it in their lives. The nearest 
they had come to naming their happy relationship 
was when the Abbot, alone in his cell, would ascribe 
his bounding pulse and kindling eye, and the glad 
tide of life rising up within him, to his natural joy 
in the progress of a pupil of extraordinary promise. 

[82] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


In her bower Heloise had often attributed the new 
music in her life, and her growing interest in her 
teacher, to an orderly and lawful reverence for 
his saintly character, and an abounding joy in the 
intellectual world to which he daily introduced 
her. These characterizations were far enough 
from declarations of love, or even from the recogni- 
tion of love, but nevertheless the experiences lured 
the pair on to dangerous and impossible ground. 

The Abbot and his pupil had travelled far to- 
gether, and this day their lesson was a black-letter 
page of an old chronicler who told the story of the 
dawn of intellect in the ancient days. Under the 
guidance of the old schoolman they had wandered 
over the pages of the theme now familiar to every 
one — the burying of the old Greek world — the 
inundation of the Roman world by barbarian 
hordes — the medieval church, mediator between 
the conquering barbarism and the conquered 
civilization, through whose monastic teachers the 
conquered in time overcame their conquerors. 
Their enthusiasm had been aroused by schools and 
names — Alcuin, and Paul the Deacon, with the 
group of scholars who manned the schools of Charle- 
magne — Berenger of Tours, and the great Anselm 
of Canterbury. These great protagonists lived 
again in the fruitful imagination of the monk and 
the maid. 

Today they were busy with the story of the 
University of Paris, and the black-letter page 
Heloise was reading seemed actually illuminated 

[83] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


with the romance of Peter Abelard. The strong 
appeal of the story had roused the old chronicler 
to unwonted vigor, and the unsuspecting pair in 
the old oaken room, with the Roman de la Rose 
hung soft about them in the tapestry on the walls, 
were borne away with its human interest. With a 
voice thrilled by the story, Heloise read to her tutor 
from the romantic and tragic climax of Abelard’s 
career: 

“And so Abelard, priest and scholar, became her 
teacher, and under his skill the maid awoke to the 
great world. They had not travelled far together 
before they were mutually surprised to discover 
Cupi<i laughing at them from among the manu- 
scripts, and they must needs both laugh back. 
Then did they both begin to live when they began 
to love. And, notwithstanding that it was con- 
trary to the canons, Abelard knew that the life 
of love he lived was the true fulfillment of his 
nature, and that priestly celibacy was but as the 
traditions of the elders spoken of in the gospels, — 
an invention of prelates and priests. So he boldly 
went on and carried her with him, and they were 
happy because they had abandoned themselves to 
love, and in their glad eyes all the world seemed to 
wish them joy. At length their great love led them 
to the altar in Notre Dame early in the morning. 
And Heloise, — ” 

At the mention of her own name on this page 
of ancient romance, a deep consciousness flashed 
in upon the reader, and the sentence finished itself 

[84] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


with lengthening hyphens, as she picked it slowly 
from the book, appropriating its suggestions to 

herself as she read “was wedded to-a-priest, 

and scorned — the — scornful world — in — the — tri- 
umph — of her w-o-m-a-n’-s 1-o-v-e.” 

Her face flamed scarlet, her eyelashes rested on 
her cheeks. The book slipped from her hand into 
her lap, then slid unnoticed to the floor. The 
strange paragraph had surprised her into a recog- 
nition of a relationship she had long enjoyed but 
of which she had never been conscious. It was as 
though she stood before a mirror and feared to 
look upon what she saw. 

A strange exultation surged in the Abbot’s heart. 
Fear and joy strove within for mastery. But 
when a wild gladness would have hurried him into 
action, the memory of his priestly vows stole across 
his mind. Strange to say, holy as were the vows 
and the memory of them, they came to him now like 
the villain in the play, holding the situation, but 
casting gloom over the stage. ’Twas but a minute. 
Then he leaned over the table between them, and 
with his face close to hers, broke out slowly, ten- 
derly, persuasively, yet, withal, passionately, 
“Save for his greater learning, I am Abelard, and 
you are truly Heloise. ’Tis a true story we have 
read, and one of ourselves.” 

It was a full minute before she could answer, and 
then she spoke slowly, hesitatingly, as though she 
dreamed : 

“Nay, but I am not Heloise. Not worthy am 

[ 85 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


I to touch her shoes. She was beautiful, and a 
scholar, a woman of great mind. But indeed 
you are Abelard,” — and her face lighted up — “and 
shall do better than he in the great world. For he 
made shipwreck foolishly.” 

In the silence that ensued, the Abbot mused 
unto himself, “And this is love! What fools we 
monks be! Why, the world was made for love.” 
And she could but hear, for when two souls are 
a-tune the very silences speak through and for 
them both. 

She answered, low and sweet, but strongly, 
as though she were the elder, and had somehow 
become his superior. “Abbot Thomas, remember 
your sacred vows. You are consecrated to the 
holiest office. A long line of honors wait for you, 
so you are faithful to the end.” 

He answered her passionately, speaking promptly, 
from the heart and not from the head. “What 
of me was consecrated but life? To whom was 
my life consecrated but unto Him who created 
and who loves life? For what was this consecra- 
tion, but to bless and beautify life, and what is 
life but love? God himself, saith the scripture, is 
love. We will love. We do love! None can 
prevent us!” he cried, springing to his feet and 
standing before her, as one preferring a petition on 
which depends his very life. 

Then, his own teaching turned to plague him. 
Standing now by his side, Heloise put her hand 
firmly upon his shoulder. Looking earnestly into 
[ 86 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


his very soul, her voice tremulous and rich with 
a new tenderness, she said, “Nay, good Father, 
you know that what is must be right. The church 
proclaims against love and marriage among her 
priests. The canons have consecrated celibacy. 
Love is right for an ordinary man, but it must be 
wrong for a priest, or the church would not have 
disallowed it.” 

But the while she spoke, her eyes and face belied 
the brave words upon her lips, and gave him encour- 
agement she did not intend. He rejoined, passion- 
ately, beseechingly, his soul aflame: “Priest and 
man! Forsooth! Is there then a difference? Is 
not a priest a man? Because he consecrates him- 
self to the service of his fellows, does he therefore 
sacrifice his manhood? Nay, but I will be a man, 
and a priest at the same time. True love will help 
me to teach, preach, govern, and serve the world, — a 
world of love of which we two will be a wedded part. 
That surely is God’s way. We will not try to im- 
prove God’s plan, canon or no canon, church or no 
church, Abbey or no Abbey, Pope or no Pope.” 

“But, see you, now! You will end by becoming 
a Wyclifite!” she cried, clasping her hands together 
nervously. 

“Nay, I may not be a heretic,” the Abbot 
answered dolefully, but still in such manner as to 
indicate that this, ‘Thus far shalt thou go,’ de- 
marked a very shadowy boundary, and one which 
might be passed were the occasion sufficient. 
Then he continued, “But you love me, Heloise! 

[87] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


I know you do; and I love you! We have loved all 
along, and knew it not! We have been blind. 
But now we see, and we love. Why should we not 
wed, and live the happy life?” 

With averted face she evaded his direct question, 
and cast about her for an avenue of escape, but with 
a hope lurking within her consciousness that she 
might be unable to find one. Then, summoning 
reserve strength and conviction, and turning to 
him she exclaimed passionately. “Bethink thee! 
O! bethink thee! Bethink thee, Father Thomas, 
Abbot of St. Mary’s.” 

“Bethink me! Yes, I will bethink me!” he 
broke out, “Why look you! Here in the Book 
Wyclif is broadcasting over the land is the story 
of the olden church, on which our church is pat- 
terned. See! Adam surely wed! Noah’s family 
are all there! Jacob loved Rachel, and for her 
served seven long years. The prophets’ wives are 
mentioned, and their children, Peter’s wife’s 
mother the good Lord healed of a fever, and Peter 
is the veritable father of our Popes! The Blessed 
Mary was wedded to a husband, and there be 
some who say she bare her husband children, who 
played on the streets with the Holy Child — about 
which mystery I trow not. But surely the Patri- 
archs and Priests and Prophets of the olden church 
were not debarred marriage. Why should we be 
less free than they? Now, by our Blessed Lady, 
you and I love, and we will not be bound by tradi- 
tions so we may not wed.” 

[ 88 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Then he fell into a muse, and remembered the 
solemn day of his consecration, and doubt clouded 
his mind, and he was uncertain, trembling within, 
afraid of the new ground upon which he stood. 
Heloise sat again in the chair, and her fingers 
turned mechanically to the page where she had read 
the startling paragraph. Her eye fell upon another 
paragraph, and, as by an inspiration she broke in 
upon the Abbot’s musings with the continuation 
of the old chronicler’s story: 

“Then the cruel world closed about the innovator, 
and pelted him with scorn, for he had fallen away 
from grace, and men tumbled him from the pedestal 
into the very mud of obloquy and disgrace. And, 
because he was but a weak man, and his vanity 
was stronger than his love, Abelard was driven to 
deny his marriage. Heloise, because she loved 
him supremely and far beyond his understanding 
of it, applauded him in his denial, though it made 
of her but a courtezan in the eyes of the gaping 
crowd. But she would not let her love for him, 
nor his for her, stand in the way of his prefer- 
ment in ecclesiastical honors, or hinder or diminish 
the dialectic victories which his soul so much 
loved, and upon which his great fame had been 
built. 

“Then, though they both still loved, they sepa- 
rated during their tarrying in this mortal world. She 
took the veil, and for her he built the Paraclete, of 
which she became the Abbess for many, many years. 
Abelard went his way into the great world of 

[89] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


monks, and bishops, and clerks, and scholars, and 
they for the most part scorned him because he 
had been so weak as to break his priestly vow to 
take the marriage vow, and then had broken the 
marriage vow because he was afraid. 

“At length Abelard died, and, because the old 
love was still fresh in the Abbess’ heart, she brought 
his poor body from afar, and laid it to rest before 
the altar in her own Abbey church. When the 
time came for her to die, she ordered that her 
body should lie beside that of her husband. And 
this they did — ” 

The Abbot put forth his hand to stop her reading. 
But the old chronicler’s story had gathered her 
womanly strength into a great resolution. 

She stopped his words with her own: — “My 
Lord, the Abbot” — and her formal address struck 
chill to his heart — “for the joy of earthly love I will 
not drag you down as the Heloise of long ago drag- 
ged down the fame of the man she loved. On you, 
honor, position, power, loudly call. You may be 
in the church just what you will. Between worthy 
honors and you will I not stand — I am unworthy 
to stand. May we not love unwed? We have 
loved unwed! We can continue what we have 
enjoyed, and save both love and honor.” She came 
up to him, and put both her hands caressingly 
upon his shoulders, and spoke her very soul into 
his soul. “This paradise we have just discovered 
has unwittingly long been ours. Let the old rela- 
tionship stand. Go on with your great work. We 
[ 90 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


will both love, and both live, and neither shall suffer 
loss.” 

‘ 1 Nay , ” the Abbot exclaimed. 1 1 Let’s marry and 
away. I’ll forswear priestly consecration for a 
higher. Be my wedded wife. Wilt?” 

“The wife of the Abbot of St. Mary’s! How 
’twould sound!” Proud scorn had come into her 
voice, but her heart faltered, and he caught her 
in his arms, and kissed her. And as she kissed 
him, her head sank upon his shoulder, as though 
that were to be its pillow forever. He led her to a 
couch where they might sit side by side; and as 
he seated her they stole the magic of another kiss, 
and still another, as they nestled together in a new, 
glad, strange world. 

At that moment, for so the fates would have it, 
Dean Fletcher sauntered by the open casement. 
A supercilious smile played upon his countenance, 
though he appeared not to see them. The twain 
upon the couch knew not that that shadow had 
rested upon them. 


[ 9 I# ] 





























CHAPTER VII. 

THE FEAST OF DEDICATION 




















































CHAPTER VII 


THE FEAST OF DEDICATION 

IN WHICH THE AUSTIN CANONS RE-DEDICATE THEIR 
CHURCH WITH STATELY CEREMONY, AND A VOICE 
OUT OF MYSTERY UTTERS AN ORACLE NOT HARD 
TO UNDERSTAND 

Following the identification of his reciprocated 
passion for Heloise, Abbot Thomas was a new man, 
and dwelt strangely, yet withal securely, in a new 
world. Heloise had laid her clear firm will upon 
him. They would love, — he would remain a monk, 
she a maid. The new romance filled his life with 
pure, lofty sentiment. Moreover, love made pleas- 
ant the daily strife between the old priestly ideals 
and the new sentiments that governed his lover’s 
life. His tutorship at the Manor House became a 
paradise. He knew himself to be a pioneer. None 
had travelled that way before. There was no 
beaten track. But he felt himself strong enough 
to live on this strange frontier, to be at home 
in both camps, to owe equal allegiance to the two 
interests which the world about him held to be 
mutually conflicting, to be able to serve God with 
a clear conscience, both as an Abbot and as a 
lover. Though he felt the slipperiness of the 
ground, and was promptly aware that an inkling 
of his new position was abroad in the Abbey, 

[95 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


(poisoned arrows, as he well knew, in his enemies’ 
quiver) his new passion made him both a better 
man and a better Abbot. 

The day before the dedication, the Manor House, 
the Abbey, and the village overflowed with guests. 
White Canons came from Newhouse, and russet 
Benedictines from a dozen houses over the country. 
The mitered Abbot of Crowland, accompanied by 
a gorgeous suite, rode in from the South, and my 
Lord the Bishop of Lincoln arrived in time for din- 
ner, with a retinue large enough and gay enough to 
have been the escort of a prince of the blood. 
Knights, and squires, and highborn dames from 
afar trooped in with the rest, till Thornton looked 
like a fresh piece of tapestry spread over the country 
side. The purple and the blue, the red, the yellow, 
and the green, the black, the white, and the grey 
of monks’ cossacks, hoods, and birettas, mingled on 
the Abbey garth. From beneath brilliant jupons 
and gay sur-coats glimpsed the armor of many 
a noble knight, and youthful squires gloried in 
flowery rainbow-hued vestments. Fine ladies rus- 
tled through the crowd in silk and satin kirtles and 
wimpled hoods, the while they laughed and talked 
and held court together. 

Right royally did Abbot Thomas entertain his 
guests. How busy the cooks were! The neigh- 
boring marshes contributed wild waterfowl. Obe- 
dient to cooks’ orders, fat capons followed plump 
pullets into big ovens, where they browned together 
amid a little sea of common gravy. From the green- 
[ 96 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


wood came pheasants, partridges, and rabbits, 
in multiplied braces. The thoughtless cooks 
robbed the sky of larks, that the feast might be 
truly epicurean. Lincoln green brought in good 
Saxon deer, and cooks with French names trans- 
formed them into savory venison. Sucking pigs 
herded with prime English beef and legs of wold-fed 
mutton, until, at the clangor of the dinner bell, the 
result of all this culinary art came together in grand 
ensemble. In half a dozen courses, washed down 
with ancient wine, this princely fare passed in grand 
review adown the groaning tables, between laugh- 
ing rows of hungry men — the Abbot himself pre- 
siding at the head of the table, Dean Fletcher 
serving viands from the foot. 

No shadow was yet on the dial, the morning of 
the dedication when Abbot Thomas rang the bell 
in his bedroom, and then finished buttoning his 
gaiters. Presently he bade come in some one who 
knocked, and Dean Fletcher entered, smiling, rub- 
bing his hands, evidently well satisfied with the 
world. 

“Good morn, Brother Richard,” the Abbot 
said cheerily. “Do you promise us a fine day?” 

“Aye, a fine day above, and in the Abbey. The 
house is full of honored guests, and the dedication 
promises to be according to the rubric.” 

“You have everything in readiness.” 

“Everything is foreseen and duly arranged.” 

The Abbot looked with approval upon the Dean, 
whose masterful competence was after his own 
[ 97 ] 


7 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


heart. “You rise early. How long have you been 
up?” he asked. 

The Dean eyed the Abbot narrowly a moment. 
A close observer might have seen a cunning look 
flash over his face. He seemed to take the Abbot’s 
measure. In a moment he answered lightly, “Not 
a pillow have I seen this night. Too much was to 
be done.” 

“Truly you do serve the Abbey well. I thank 
you, Richard.” 

“Will you have me wake the Bishop?” queried 
the Dean. 

“Not yet awhile. He rode hard yesterday. 
Let him sleep another hour.” 

When the Dean turned to go, the Abbot added, 
casually, “By the by, Richard, rumor has it that 
the stolen deed to the Manor lands is in the Abbey. 
Know you aught about it?” 

The question surprised the Dean, but only for 
an instant did his face show it. He turned slowly 
toward the Abbot, and his face wore its wonted 
inscrutable expression. His tongue shot across his 
thin lips. “No! Abbot Thomas! I know naught 
of it? Lincoln’s too far away, and I’m not 
Sheriff. But this I do know, that the deed ought 
to be in our muniment room, and we ought to 
have been profiting by the Manor lands these 
many years.” 

His hard metallic voice portended storm, and 
the Abbot, though surprised at the outbreak, 
sought to soothe him. 


[ 98 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Nay! Nay! Richard,” he said genially. “No 
need for feeling, nor for hard words. Right’s 
right. Surely the later deed should hold — will 
hold in law. I mean the one the green thief 
burned, as they say. Let us not lay claim to land 
based on bare theft. That were to lose our good 
name. We must be just to others, before we dare 
be selfish for ourselves.” 

The Dean was implacably irate. The soft words 
exasperated him, perhaps because he mistook them 
for weakness. Pent anger surged into his face, 
and a sneer was in his voice when he answered, 
“That sounds like foolish John Wyclif. We’ll 
all be his Poor Priests if you have your way, our 
treasure, land, and gold scattered, and with neither 
will nor ability to get more. Beshrew me, but I 
hate such cant! The Manor lands should be 
ours. ’Twas I drew up the deed, saw it signed and 
duly witnessed. No later deed have I seen, nor 
has anyone else that I know of! I tell you, if I 
ever get hold of the Manor deed, we’ll hold the acres. 
The Brotherhood’s against you, Abbot Thomas! 
You’re too soft, too religious by far! These be 
bold words, I trow, but mine oath bids me speak 
the truth.” 

The Abbot was visibly moved. A weaker man 
might have been angered, but when he spoke he 
had himself well in hand. He arose and put his 
hand gently on the Dean’s shoulder. 

“Speak not hot, foolish words, Dean Fletcher. 
If you will not heed abstract justice, think of it in 
[ 99 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the concrete. ’Twould be fire and sword for our 
good neighbor, Sir William.” 

The Dean laughed, a nasty, biting, sarcastic 
laugh, barbed with an insinuating sneer. 

“Scripture saith, ‘Arise, Peter, kill and eat.’ 
I’m in favor of Holy Writ,” he answered dryly. 

“But think of Sir William, and his,” pleaded the 
Abbot, kindly, but firmly, feeling the justice on his 
side. 

“ His? ” flamed the Dean. “ Mayhap ’twere truer 
had you said, ‘Her!’ By son ties, Abbot Thomas, 
the Abbey begins to think that you’re too thick 
at the Manor House, and that the Lady Heloise 
may be your Eve ! Your protest ’gainst our title to 
their lands half looks that way!” 

The Dean opened the door, swept out mightily 
into the corridor, and slammed the door after him. 
Abbot Thomas smiled at this petty exhibition of 
anger. Then he bit his lip, took a turn or two 
about the room to win mastery over himself, and 
then leaned back upon the edge of the table, medi- 
tative. “He’s full of strange turns,” he mused. 
“Sometimes he’s good, sometimes very bad. Not 
all the mud in his making was breathed human! 
Greed and Ambition damn him a petty soul, and 
will be the ruin of him yet, in spite of his Austin 
habit.” 

Then the figure of Heloise floated across his vision, 
color mounted his face, and he shuddered. May- 
hap his own Austin habit might not save him 
from shipwreck. 


[ IOO ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


’Tis a most difficult pass!” he mused. “The 
Dean may yet hold the whip! But, bah! ’Tis 
all very small onions.” And the Abbot went about 
his preparations for the dedication. 

When the great bell sounded tierce, Abbot 
Thomas, in full canonicals, led the Austin Canons 
into the chancel of the church. The monks filled 
every stall, and looked down upon nave and 
transept crowded with people. So thick did the 
congregation stand, that the vergers could with 
difficulty maintain the necessary aisle through the 
throng. Curiously enough, the Abbot’s eyes 
quickly discovered Heloise, though she was sur- 
rounded by the multitude and all but hidden from 
his view by a pillar. By her side stood Guilbert de 
Rouen, protecting her from the crowd as best he 
could. The sight of Heloise brought a flush to the 
Abbot’s cheek and quickened his pulse. Strange, 
and even reprehensible as it doubtless appears, and 
outrageous as, without doubt, was its intrusion 
upon the high sanctities of this hour, the illicit in 
his relationship with Heloise tingled in the Abbot’s 
blood. From his place among his unsuspecting 
brethren, he saw visions and dreamed dreams, 
heard music foreign to the rubrics, and also most 
marvelously sweet. 

There came a loud knocking at the west door of 
the church, as though a knight were beating the 
ponderous door with the butt of his lance, demand- 
ing the surrender of whomever might be within. 
With the ordered stateliness of the old Roman 

[ ioi ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


church, with which that institution has pleased 
the eye through long centuries in matters of ritual, 
where the English Church is but a weak imitator, 
Abbot Thomas and Dean Fletcher led the Thornton 
canons down through the congregation. At the 
door the Abbot cried with a loud voice, “Who 
knocks at the door of the Abbey church of St. 
Mary’s at Thornton? What may be your busi- 
ness?” 

The rapping repeated itself, rattling the heavy 
oaken door. 

“Who knocks? Who stands without? Why 
disturb you the peace of the Brotherhood of St. 
Mary’s? Answer, there, without,” cried the Abbot. 
The people strained their necks and stood tip-toe 
to see what would happen. 

Again the knocking, more imperative than before, 
followed immediately by an answer from without, 
muffled by the closed door. “Open! Open! in the 
name of the lord Bishop of Lincoln.” 

“Brother Fletcher, may we ope the door? Has 
he right to enter?” queried the Abbot of the Dean 
at his side. 

“ I think we may. We will grant him only cere- 
monial right,” answered the Dean. 

“Well ! ” At the word Dean Fletcher took a pon- 
derous key from his girdle, and with it unlocked the 
door, using and needing both his hands. 

He threw open the door, and the whole space 
between the west front of the church and the east 
front of the new Gate House presented itself to view 
[ 102 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


packed with a waiting glittering throng. There stood 
my lord the Bishop of Lincoln, gorgeously robed, 
mitered and jeweled, the pastoral crook in his 
hand glittering with gold and precious stones, and 
gay with fluttering ribbons. All about him stood 
his numerous retinue, scarcely less royally attired 
than he. Behind and about the ecclesiastics the 
villiens, russet clad and lean with hunger, craned 
their necks to catch what sight they could of 
plump faces and dazzling robes, dreaming the while 
behind their stolid faces of the day of vengeance 
sure to come when the people should rise. 

The Bishop’s banner swung through the open 
door, followed by taperers, thurifers, and a long 
double line of ecclesiastics. When he was barely 
within the door the Bishop broke out into the 
ancient psalm, “The earth is the Lord’s, and the 
fulness thereof,” intoning in a clear round voice. 
The whole body of the foreign priests, together with 
the Thornton Canons, made the church echo with 
the antiphone, “The world and they that dwell 
therein.” At the threshold of the sanctuary the 
psalm ended, and the monks divided to the gospel 
and the epistle sides, filling the choir stalls to over- 
flowing, so that the Abbot and his immediate staff 
could scarcely find places to stand, and the Thornton 
monks were glad to find even standing-room in 
the Chapter House, where they could but dimly hear 
and could not see at all. 

The Abbot of Crowland preached the sermon. 
He was in the midst of a passage which itself illus- 
[103] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


trated its theme, — the weakness and weariness of 
the flesh, — when a great clatter in the choir almost 
convulsed Abbot Thomas, who sat on a lower 
throne by the Bishop. Indeed, laughter was every- 
where and would not be smothered, for Dean 
Fletcher, perched on his misericorde seat had fallen 
asleep, as was very evident. Designed to trap 
such slumberers, the seat had pitched forward on 
its hinges, throwing the Dean violently upon the 
floor in front of the stalls. Even the Bishop joined 
in the contagious merriment. The Dean ruefully 
picked himself up, and resumed his seat. The old 
Adam in him flushed angrily as he looked straight 
before him at nothing, in a painfully conscious 
effort to appear unconscious. The laughter which 
would play about the corners of Abbot Thomas’ 
mouth and dance in the Bishop’s eyes, in spite of 
all they could do to suppress it, did not tend to 
soothe the Dean’s wounded pride. He moistened 
his lips with his tongue, and leaned back sulkily 
in his seat. Doubtless much midnight vigil and 
prayer lay at the bottom of his misfortune, as he 
later took care to explain. Human nature can 
only stand so much, and the Abbot was undoubt- 
edly right in lightening the rigors of the Dean’s 
life by the remission of some of the more untimely 
of these duties. Even a monk must sleep some- 
times. 

While the last strains of St. Ambrose’s noble 
anthem, the Te Deum , — the most used and most 
abused of all the ancient hymns — were dying 

[ 104] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


away, the dignitaries arose for the Recessional. 
Amid the bustle attending the movement, just as 
the Bishop, with Abbot Thomas and Dean Fletcher 
on either hand, was descending the throne, and the 
monks were watching for their places, the church 
suddenly filled with a Voice. High above all other 
sounds it rang out, clear and strong, attracting 
attention to itself by its peculiar and almost spirit- 
ual quality, almost as much as by its unusualness 
in such a place or by the weird burden of its mes- 
sage. Men looked everywhere for the source of 
the Voice, but found it not. But the Voice that 
could not be located penetrated every nook of the 
church. Everybody heard, held his breath, and 
wondered. 

“Aye! Aye! Aye!” cried the Voice. “Another 
gay procession! Fall into line, fine soldiers of the 
cross! Now, hear, ye children of Sodom, give ear 
ye people of^Gomorrah to the voice of the Lord. 
You preach poverty, — the few of you who can 
preach — and scornfully you live in luxury. Chas- 
tity is on your tongues and concubines in your 
beds. Drunkards you are, who preach poor people 
temperance. Heaven is your theme and the blessed 
saints, and lo! ye are but grovellings of the earth.” 

The people were thunderstruck. The manifest 
truth of the words and the mystery of the Voice 
held them spellbound. The monks swarmed about 
the chancel like angry bees. They looked into each 
others’ faces awed and helpless. The Bishop uncon- 
sciously resumed his seat, clutching the arms of 
[105] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


his throne nervously. His face blanched, yet his 
eye flashed fire, fear and courage, neck and neck, 
contending within him to the point of action. 

Abbot Thomas sprang to the altar steps, whence 
he overlooked the seething multitude, but vainly 
sought the source of the mysterious Voice. He 
would have spoken a command, but he remem- 
bered Heloise, and was silent. Conscience smote 
many another monk, and the smitten hung their 
heads. Others, equally conscience-stricken held 
their heads high in the air, simulating scorn. 
Some were so encased in evil that even the Voice 
touched naught within them; while a few, pure in 
heart, knew how true the message was, and trem- 
bled for their brethren. 

A brazen inspiration seized the monk who had 
borne the crucifix in the processional. High upon 
its staff he lifted the sacred symbol, as though to 
stay the plague of scalding words, or to shield him- 
self and his brethren from the blasting truth. The 
act but stirred the Voice afresh. 

“Well may you lift the Redeemer on his cross, 
traitors and free livers all! He was crucified for 
you, and every day you crucify him more! Once 
was he kissed in betrayal, — only once, — but you 
betray him with your kisses times beyond count, 
and dare not hang yourselves, though hang you 
ought! Aye! Cross yourselves, traitor monks, 
but little good will it do you!” 

It added a dash of horror that the Voice which 
nobody could see ; could evidently see everybody 
[196] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


and also noted everything. Dean Fletcher was 
beside himself with rage. 

“He was a poor man,” the Voice continued. 
“He loved villeins, companying with them. But 
you, forsooth, are great nobles, and oppress God’s 
poor. You sacrifice men to your greed and women 
to your lust, devour widows’ store, and herd with 
the rich. You steal! You steal! You steal your 
neighbor’s land!” 

Heloise turned to Guilbert de Rouen. “Sonties! 
’Tis somebody who knows!” exclaimed Guilbert, 
and his eye sought in vain for the source of the 
Voice. Dean Fletcher dashed into the throng on 
the same fruitless quest, clutching his nails into 
his hands. But the Voice did not halt. 

“Out with you, false knaves, traitors to the cross 
you carry! Destruction waiteth for you, and you 
shall not escape. Your houses shall be consumed 
with fire, your harlots scattered, the sites of your 
churches plowed, and you yourselves, O haughty 
men of shame, shall swing on gallows high as 
Haman’s. Your portion shall be the flames of 
Hell, and the damnation of the Pit, for — the — 

mouth — of — the — Lord hath spoken 

it. Doom! Doom! Doom!” 

The awful Voice faded away and left an appalling 
silence. 

The Recessional never formed. Helter-skelter 
the congregation left the church. Monks and digni- 
taries stood not upon the order of their reaching 
the Chapter House, where they disrobed in garru- 
1 107] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


lous confusion. Some unauthorized person blew 
out the lights on the altar, and a villein who 
lingered in the church chuckled openly, as though 
his dull brain perceived the act to be symbolic. 


[108] 


CHAPTER VIII. THE DWARF 















/ 



















CHAPTER VIII 


THE DWARF 

IN WHICH GREEK MEETS GREEK IN A BATTLE OF 
WITS, AND THE MAN WHO WINS SUFFERS NOTA- 
BLE DEFEAT 

On an autumn evening, the Dwarf stood in the 
center of a group of monks by the fountain on the 
Abbey garth. As the guest of St. J ohn, — the gentle, 
kindly, scholarly St. John, who haunted the Scrip- 
torium, but who, nevertheless, found relaxation 
in the companionship of the Dwarf — he had just 
eaten supper with the brethren in the refectory. 
Supper ended, it would seem that the Dwarf was 
paying for his meal by inciting the brotherhood to 
merriment. Laughter echoed among the build- 
ings. The Dwarf was in his drollest mood. It 
would have been dark but for the torches planted 
by the fountain, and but for occasional other torches 
which sputtered in their rings at the angles of the 
buildings bounding the garth, dividing the enclos- 
ure into flickering streaks of dim yellow light and 
shadows numerous and heavy. 

When the fun was at high tide, Dean Fletcher 
came out of the refectory in company with Brothers 
Geoffrey and Benedict. The newcomers stood on 
the edge of the crowd awhile and presently laughed 
[in] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


as heartily as the rest, — the impish lout was so 
cleverly droll, his antics so ludicrous, that even the 
dignity of a Dean must needs unbend. Shortly 
the Dean sauntered toward his house across the 
garth, conversing with his companions. Compline 
sounded from the tower. By twos and threes, the 
monks drifted into the church, bidding good-night 
to the Dwarf, who was left alone by the fountain. 

Securely hidden by a shadow, the Dwarf watched 
the movements of the Dean, whom he saw enter 
the house with his companions. The door closed 
after them. Presently a light, newly created and 
glimmering through a certain lattice, told the 
watcher that the trio had arrived in the Dean’s 
bedroom. Swiftly and silently, the Dwarf skirted 
the path toward the Dean’s house, stepping in the 
shadows and avoiding the streaks of yellow light, 
his foot light, stealthy, sure, like some forest-kind 
tracking its prey. By the Dean’s house, he climbed 
a tree that overhung the masonry. He might have 
been an ape, so easily did he climb, and so at home 
was he among the branches, though it was so dark 
in the tree that he had to feel his way. He pushed 
out along a limb that swept close to the wall. At 
a certain place, which evidently was foreknown to 
him, he rested his shoulders back in the fork of a 
neighboring branch. Then he gently and cautiously 
pushed aside the mass of ivy in front of him, and 
through a crack in the masonry, forced open by a 
large ivy root, he could see down into the Dean’s 
bedroom. 


[112] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The three monks were plainly in sight, as they 
sat closely about a table. The dwarf smothered a 
faint grunt of satisfaction when he saw that the 
monks scrutinized a black letter parchment that 
lay between them on the table. The Dwarf 
pressed his face into the ivy close to the wall to 
look and listen, his body tense with excitement. 

“ ’Twas no longer safe in the muniment room. 
The Abbot’s growing suspicious. He’s likely to 
take a fancy to look over the parchments himself, 
to see if we have the will Green Devil stole,” he 
heard the Dean say. 

The Dwarf could not clearly distinguish all the 
monks said, but he gathered that it was the stolen 
deed that lay on the table before them; that they 
would hold it, in spite of the Abbot, till they could 
make it win the Manor lands; that something might 
happen to make that day not so far away; that by 
and by the Dean himself might be Abbot, when all 
would be well for the Abbey and ill for Sir William 
Wellham. The Dwarf ground his teeth and dented 
his finger-nails into his palms when he caught 
coarse jests about the Lady Heloise and the 
Abbot; especially when brother Benedict averred 
that the new Abbot that was to be ought to inherit 
the old Abbot’s harem. Guilbert de Rouen, fine 
bird though he appeared, was no match for a 
monk’s frock, the men said. Meanwhile the safest 
place for the deed was the Dean’s bedroom. 
From his place of espial the Dwarf saw the Dean 
fold the precious document, and with a theatrical 
[ H3] 


8 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

air impress a kiss upon it, as though it were a relic 
of a saint, and tuck it away securely beneath the 
pillow of his bed. Then the Dean produced a pack 
of playing cards, so handsomely illuminated that 
they must have cost half a king’s ransom, (unless 
St. John had illuminated them for the Abbey) and 
the trio entered into a social game. 

The Dwarf swung himself lightly to the ground. 
Presently he stood before Dean’s door and rained 
upon it a dozen blows with his fist. When the door 
opened the Dwarf was not there, having stepped 
into the friendly shadow of a buttress, from which 
a moment later he took a spectacular handspring 
past the astonished Geoffrey into the room! 

“Take a hand!” importuned brother Benedict. 
“We’ll skin the Dean and Geoffrey, and stretch 
their hides on the church door to dry!” 

The Dwarf eyed him a moment with droll quiz- 
zery. Then the three fell to laughing — the clown’s 
face was so provoking. 

“I’m ticklishly particular,” drawled the Dwarf. 
“Your reputation’s a little soiled!” The laughter 
passed beyond control. 

The Dwarf stuck his arms a-kimbo and looked at 
the Dean. 

“Can you stick out your tongue and touch your 
ear?” he asked. Falling into his rollicking humor, 
the Dean tried, and failed ! Long as was his tongue 
and wide as was his mouth, a wide strip of tawny 
cheek showed between the tip of his tongue and his 
ear! With a countenance as solemn as the moon- 

[ 114] 


















: 



















































































* 





































































In the Dean’s Chamber — " Can you stick out your tougue 

AND TOUCH YOUR EAR.” 



THE GREEN DEVIL 


light visage of a church owl, the Dwarf stuck out 
his tongue full length, as though he mistook the 
Dean for a leech, and at the same time he touched 
his ear with the tip of his finger! Imperturbable 
as the Sphinx, the Dwarf looked solemnly on at 
the laughter that convulsed the three men. 

“You droll devil,” cried the Dean, between 
spasms, “you’ll be the solemn death of us all! ” 

“ I hope so! ” exclaimed the Dwarf. “Till then, 
lend me a farthing. I’m pauper, and going worse.” 

The Dean handed him the coin, and, in sight of 
them all, the Dwarf took from the Dean’s hand a 
golden florin ! 

“Saint Satan! ” exclaimed the Dean, and 
Geoffrey and Benedict cried together, greatly 
excited, “Let me see! Let me see! ” 

Forthwith, the Dwarf handed the gold piece to 
Benedict, but when that worthy held the precious 
coin to the candle, lo! it was but the Dean’s paltry 
farthing! Chagrined, Benedict gave the farthing 
back to the Dwarf, who, before their very eyes, 
took from his hand a golden mark! Such necro- 
mancy! The Dean’s eyes glittered green. 

1 ‘ Give me back my farthing, ’ ’ he cried. Promptly 
the Dwarf handed him the golden mark. The Dean 
clutched the coin, glanced an instant at it through 
his closed fingers, and, in high disgust, thrust his 
original farthing into his pocket! 

“It’s weird, uncanny,” cried the Dean. “Part 
of the Black Art. You’ll hang. O, you’ll hang! ” 
“With you; good company!” scoffed the Dwarf, 
[ 115 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


quickly, coolly, humorously. “ ’Tis the way to 
make metal breed. Get your hands out of your 
pockets, men ! Can’t make money with your hands 
in your pockets! Put your hands into somebody’s 
else pockets! Stick ’em in deep and often, and 
grab, — that’s the latest creed and the best! ” 

Then the Dwarf took a chair between the table 
and the bed, and fell into exquisite mimicry. He 
bent over the table in serious mood, an earnest 
wholesome look upon his face, his right hand 
thumb and finger posed as though they drove a 
quill; and the trio cried in unison, — “St. John, by 
son ties! St.John!’’ 

One by one the Dwarf pantomimed the chief char- 
acters in the Abbey, to his auditors’ huge delight. 
He ended with the Dean himself. To set forth the 
Dean he arose to his feet, walked the floor back 
and forth the length of the bed, his eyes on the 
ground, his hands clasped behind his back, medi- 
tating, with a fine religious air. When the tip of 
his tongue moistened his parched lips time and 
again, the trio roared, and roared again with 
laughter. No king’s court ever had a droller clown ! 

The Dwarf fell upon the bed, leaning an elbow 
on the pillow, and began a salacious tale from Boc- 
caccio, and the monks smacked their lips with 
enjoyment. Little St. Hugh of Lincoln followed 
hard on Boccaccio’s gay nuns and monks, with no 
incongruity felt either by him who yarned or by 
thjem who listened. Verse by verse in fine style, 
the Dwarf recited the ballad, piling mystery on 

[n6] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


mystery, and the medieval romance held the 
monks almost as well as the Italian’s tale. When 
the Dwarf concluded — 

‘‘And a’ the bells o’ merry Lincoln 
Without men’s hands were rung, 

And a’ the books o’ merry Lincoln 
Were read without man’s tongue, 

And ne’er was such a burial 
Since Adam’s days begun ” 

the trio clapped their hands. After a brief pause, 
still seated on thA Dean’s bed, the Dwarf remarked, 

“ 1 saw ’em duck the witch yesterday, at Keelby.” 

“Tell us!” cried Geoffrey and Benedict. 

But the Dean said, “You’d better let witches 
alone. They’ll get you into bushels o’ trouble.” 

“I did let her alone!” the Dwarf answered. 

“ ’Twas the crowd rough-handled her! O, she’s a 
hussy ! Such a voice, and a face round as a turnip ! ” 
The Dwarf laughed at the recollection of the jolly, 
round, plump face of the Keelby witch. 

“The mob had her, but I trow she had the mob 
by the ear with her shrewish tongue. 1 Come here 
you young jacknapes,’ she would cry whenever she 
caught sight of a lad in the crowd. 4 I’ll cut a 
slit in your ear and stick your nose through it!’ 
They hustled her to caddie beck. The water there 
is deep, and cold, and wet! How she did squirm 
when they bound her to the stool! But they 
ducked her!” 

The Dwarf laughed heartily, and two monks 
laughed with him. The Dean seemed to enjoy 

1 117] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the story but indifferently, which was so unlike 
him. 

“She came up spluttering fine, doubling her 
fists, swearing like a score or more of troopers! 
You could hear her across a ten- acre field. 

“ ‘Hold her under longer, Tom, next time,’ cried 
the parish priest. Tom did ! He did ! Oh, my good- 
ness! The saints bless us! When she came up I 
thought she was done for! But, pshaw! you can’t 
drown a real witch, and she is the worst in the 
country side. She shook the water from her like 
a spaniel, and fell to swearing again. You should 
hear her swear ! She does it better than anybody 
I ever heard, in court or camp, or wearing monk’s 
frock! Such hot words I never heard! All the 
fiends of hell she named, calling them up one by 
one, and as she called they came up through the 
grass! You could see them with your bodily eye, 
you could! ” 

The Dwarf crossed himself, and Geoffrey and 
Benedict followed suit. The Dean held himself 
sober and aloof, scowling at the fun. 

“I tell you, it was better than a miracle play,” 
the Dwarf continued. “She named the full ingre- 
dients of the witches’ cauldron, till you could hear 
the foul pot bubble just beneath the thin sod! 
Every anathema men ever heard, and a full score 
of new ones, the witch hurled at that Keelby crowd, 
so that they fell back, cowed, shivering, afraid. 
Tom fell back with the rest, and when he let go the 
teeter-board the witch went under again!” 

[ ix8] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The Dwarf lay back on the bed writhing with 
laughter. “ ’Tis time all honest folk were abed,” 
said the Dean, severely. Picking himself up from 
the bed and smothering his laughter, the Dwarf 
would have finished his story. But, acting on the 
Dean’s hint, brothers Geoffrey and Benedict were 
already preparing to leave, so the Dwarf bade the 
Dean a hearty good night, and went out with them. 

The Dwarf and the monks circled the garth to 
the Dormitory, where the monks bade the funny 
fellow good night and went in to bed. The Dwarf 
would go to bed, too. He made directly for the 
new Gate House. On the edge of a slit of light cast 
by a torch he halted a moment, and drew from his 
bosom the Manor House parchment which, under 
the cover of the witch story, he had filched from 
under the Dean’s pillow. He examined it but a 
moment, as though to assure himself, then thrust 
it back into his bosom, and walked toward the 
Gate House with quickened and exultant step. 
He would see which would hold the Manor lands — 
the Dean or his own good master, Sir William ! 

At the Gate House the Dwarf found the postern 
door swinging on its hinges. The archway leading 
to the drawbridge was as dark as a hedge. But 
the Dwarf did not hesitate. He was so familiar 
with every nook and corner, that he stepped through 
the postern into the dark passage as firmly as 
though it had been broad daylight, nor did he 
slacken his pace. He was happy and buoyant, 
for was not the stolen deed in his bosom, and would 

[ 119] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


not his cunning exploit set at rest Sir William’s 
fears? He enjoyed his mastership of the situation. 
He had whistled the first measure of a gay alehouse 
ditty, when, suddenly, without a word or other 
sound of warning, a heavy blow felled him to the 
ground. 

Instantly he sprang to his feet, as though he were 
a bounding ball, and his upraised arms parried 
blows rained upon him by a quarterstaff in the 
hands of some strong, masterful, invisible foe. 
Not a word was spoken on either side. The Dwarf 
closed with his antagonist, and the quarterstaff 
fell on the pavement. Together the two men 
wrestled to the ground in deadly clutch, the Dwarf 
feeling for his antagonist’s throat, pinioning his 
arms the while, that no dagger might come into 
play, the animal in him strong and furious. They 
wrestled in the dark up and down the archway, 
and contact with the man’s body told the Dwarf 
that his antagonist wore a monk’s gown. The men 
surged towards the postern. At the edge of the 
dim light at the postern his adversary broke away, 
by a masterly trick, the use of which surprised the 
Dwarf. Moreover, his antagonist fled! In the 
dim light of the torches about the garth the Dwarf 
could distinguish a tall wiry figure in the habit of 
a monk, running towards the Dean’s house. Some- 
thing familiar about the figure greatly surprised 
the Dwarf. 

“Is it Dean Fletcher? It can’t be the Dean! 
By sonties! It looks like him! ” exclaimed the 
[ 120 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Dwarf under breath. Then a sickly shamed feel- 
ing of defeat, of having been tricked, duped out 
of his victory, flushed hotly over him. He thrust 
his hand into his bosom. His smock was ripped and 
torn wide open! The parchment was gone! 

The Dwarf swore softly a string of strange oaths, 
and then slowly turned on his heel to leave the 
Abbey. Fortunately the bridge was down, the 
watchman being either absent or asleep, and over 
the bridge the Dwarf passed unmolested, and ap- 
parently unobserved, into the woodsy Thornton 
road. 

“ If ’twas not the Dean, the Dean’s at the bottom 
of it, ” he muttered to himself, a crescendo of anger 
rising within him. “The crafty, crafty dog! But, 
I’ll get him, and also will I get the will! ’Tis my 
next move!” 

A sort of wild frenzy came over him. He seized 
a fallen log that lay by the road, which hardly half 
a dozen men could lift. Hugging the knurly bulk 
in his arms, he bore it across the road half a 
dozen times, and lightly tossed it from him into the 
thicket. Had his antagonist witnessed that exhibi- 
tion of brute strength, he would surely have thanked 
his lucky star that he had broken from the clinch 
before the frenzy had come upon the Dwarf. 


[ 121 ] 



CHAPTER IX. 

A SCOURGE OF TONGUES 



CHAPTER IX 


A SCOURGE OF TONGUES 

IN WHICH A JUICY MORSEL UNDER THE TONGUE OF 
THE THORNTON CANONS LENDS COLOR TO THAT 
WRIT WHICH AVERS THAT THE TONGUE IS A 
WORLD OF INIQUITY SET ON FIRE OF HELL 

The great bell in the Abbey tower tolled for 
nocturnes. Brother Paul turned over on his narrow 
bed, and would to sleep again, the hour was so very 
early. But the clang of the bell was insistent. 
At length, because the spirit was willing although 
the flesh was weak, the monk sat up, slowly swung 
his feet to the floor, and rubbed open his eyes. 
When, a minute later, a footfall passed down the 
corridor, halting before the door of each cell long 
enough to turn the key and call the sleeper to serv- 
ice, Brother Paul answered “Here” to the signal 
intended for him. Albeit, he yawned and stretched 
himself many times before he had dressed himself, 
or the spirit of sleep had fully departed from him. 
Then he stepped into the corridor with a sleepy, 
“Good morn,” to Brother Thomas, whose cell was 
next to his. They twain fell into line with some 
threescore pairs of monks who by this time had 
gathered, and the brethren of St. Mary’s, led by the 
Dean, moved to Matins in the church. 

It would be dark yet three hours or more, and 

[125] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the raw atmosphere bit to the bone. A thick 
November fog added opacity to the darkness and 
muffled the shuffling footsteps of the monks. 
Half-a-dozen torches, stuck at points of vantage 
by the way, flickered and sputtered in vain protest 
against conditions they were powerless to change. 
Through the fog the procession moved into the 
chancel. The fog was there before the monks, and, 
in spite of the altar ablaze with candles and nu- 
merous torches stuck about the stalls, it was a light 
more dim than religious by which the monks found 
the place in the breviary for the office of the day. 

It may have been due to the atmospheric con- 
ditions, or perhaps it was because the light was 
uncertain; it may have been because the service 
was so long, or it may even have been possible that 
the good Dean Fletcher himself was so near asleep 
that his yawns diluted the spirit of the service; 
or, mayhap, St. Satan was more alert than usual 
this morning; it may have been by all these means 
combined, and by others which remain secret, that 
St. Satan had predetermined this a red letter day 
for the Abbey on his calendar. However it came 
about, it is soberly chronicled that matters were 
astir among the monks this morning entirely con- 
trary to the letter and the spirit of the rubric. 

While the strains of a “Gloria” were swelling 
triumphantly above the fog, a slip of parchment 
came mysteriously down the line into Brother 
Paul’s hand. When he had surreptitiously mas- 
tered its contents, it just as mysteriously appeared 
[ 126] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


in the hand of Brother Thomas, who in due time 
passed it along to Brother Henry, who was singing 
like an angel by his side. The note simply inquired, 
“What ought to be the penance for a brother who 
has lost his heart to a maid, and is unrepentant? ” 

So subtly as to defy detection the spirit of levity 
pervaded the brotherhood, but the psalm still 
soared heavenward, the Dean singing heartily with 
the rest. Soon a large interrogation point, formed 
by a few strokes of a deft pen which had contorted 
the figure of a monk into the symbol, passed down 
the lines of singers. This the brothers promptly 
interpreted, “Who is the offender?” 

But the antiphones fell into their places exactly 
as though the monks were not in a rear-guard 
action with the flesh, and getting the worst of it. 
The brethren sat impassive through the first lection, 
but ten verses of the longest psalm in the psalter 
had not been sung before another caricature of a 
monk touched the brothers’ risibles, as it came down 
the line on a little square of parchment. There 
was no mistaking it! The grotesque figure held 
in its hand an episcopal staff, and the crook turned 
inward! It pictured an Abbot! But the monks 
sang on sublimely, as though carnal things were 
far away. 

Between the paeans of two psalms, a monk 
advanced up the chancel. 

“A confession, a confession and a penance, O 
my Father!” he said, standing before Dean 
Fletcher, his head bowed, his eyes on the pavement. 

[ 127] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The monks craned their necks to see and to hear. 
It was Brother Brown, a simple, conscientious 
monk, whose confession would doubtless be enter- 
taining. The Dean put up his hand, and silence 
fell upon the foggy chancel. 

“ Speak, my poor brother, speak,” said the Dean 
in a sympathetic tone of voice. 

In simple, broken accents the sinner laid bare 
his soul. “Many days have I been sorely tried,” 
he sobbed. “The devil has well nigh had the best 
of me, in spite of prayer and penance, and much 
watching. My vow of chastity has been marvel- 
ously hard to keep. O, why is it? In spite of 
prayers and fasting, woman will come into my 
thoughts. Abbey walls are no remedy. When I 
thrust her out at one door she comes in smiling at 
another. Prayer helps me not. Ave Marias are 
a snare unto me, and a delusion.” 

The chancel was convulsed with suppressed 
merriment. The monks shuffled their feet noisily 
on the floor, they snickered, and some laughed 
outright. Dean Fletcher motioned a command 
to Brothers Geoffrey and Benedict, and those two 
monks passed down the chancel, reducing the 
Gospel and Epistle monks to a semblance of order. 

“My rosary have I worn out,” the unhappy man 
continued. “But ’tis no use. My wits are out 
and woman is in. I am no monk! Not yet have 
I fallen into carnal sin — ” 

Disappointment in the chancel passed into dis- 
gust. 1 1 was a tame ending to a tale that had prom- 
[128] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


ised much! The Dean suppressed the commotion 
with his hand, in order that Brother Brown might 
finish. 

“ — But my thoughts run on far ahead, and I’m 
as bad as fallen. But I make open confession, and 
seek forgiveness of the Brotherhood, and of God. 
Give me penance, reverend Father in God, to mend 
my sinful mind, and pluck me as a brand from the 
burning.” 

The penitent’s voice was broken with pitiable 
sobs, and the soul-tragedy ought to have banished 
frivolity from the choir. Under normal condi- 
tions, doubtless, it would have stimulated true 
religious feeling. But this was the day of subtle 
vitiating influences and the hilarity of the monks 
was beyond recall. All eyes turned to the Dean. 
He sat evidently deep in thought, his hands folded 
deep in the sleeves of his habit, his head drawn 
back into his cowl. The Brotherhood quieted, 
awaiting the Dean’s word. 

“Brother Brown,” the Dean said at length, shak- 
ing his head slowly, sadly, “It is indeed in deep 
waters that you are. But open confession is medi- 
cine for the soul. However, the matter comes to us 
too suddenly for immediate decision. Our judg- 
ment is that you hasten with this confession to our 
good Abbot. Tell him everything. With him will 
I confer, and together we will impose suitable pen- 
ance. You have the prayers of us all,” — sweeping 
his hand over the choir. “Thyself must watch 
and pray.” 


[ 129] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The penitent knelt to receive the Dean’s blessing, 
then with downcast eyes he slowly made his way 
out of the church. 

When Matins ended, the monks dispersed from 
the Chapter House in a buzz of excited discussion 
of the one absorbing topic. 

“We have fallen upon evil times,” complained 
Brother Paul, as he and Brother Thomas lingered in 
the Chapter House. “What does it all mean? ” 

“The Abbot hath made a fool of himself,” Thomas 
answered brusquely. 

“What, in loving a maid? By sonties, monk’s 
love is common enough beyond the moat,” — 
and Brother Paul held up his hands in good-hum- 
ored protest. 

“No! No! Not in loving, but in being caught 
at it! ” corrected Brother Thomas. Brother Paul’s 
eyes twinkled, and, banter and seriousness equally 
mixed in his tones, he replied: 

“I can put a shaft nearer the bull’s eye yet, 
brother mine. Not in being caught, but in letting 
Dean Fletcher catch him, lies the Abbot’s sin and 
peril! I fear me for the Abbot! ” 

“But, Brother Paul, what hath the Abbot really 
done? Rumor is an ill-favored wench I trow, and 
her tongue needs clipping. What lies at the bot- 
tom of the silly gossip?” 

“Nay, I know no more than you, Brother Thomas. 
But ’tis freely circulated that he hath miscomported 
himself with the woman Heloise at the Manor 
House, and that he would resign the Abbacy to 

[ 130] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


become her husband. Heard you ever the like?” 
The monk laughed at the sheer humor of the sit- 
uation. 

“ Pshaw! Pshaw! What folly!” chuckled Brother 
Thomas. “If all the monks who love left the 
cloisters, the Holy Houses would be desolate! 
And then, to marry ! What need ? Ah ! Ah ! Why 
just look at Brother — ” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” broke in Brother Paul. “But 
Dean Fletcher has determined upon stricter disci- 
pline henceforth for Thornton. I suppose that 
if the Abbot’s star wanes the Dean’s will wax. 
There’s astrology for you! The Dean declares 
stoutly for the punishment of all who break rule.” 

“But how can an Abbot be disciplined? Tell me 
that.” 

“The Bishop, my good brother, the Bishop must 
discipline your namesake.” 

“Nay ! Nay!” answered Brother Thomas prompt- 
ly. “We will manage without His Grace. As well 
invite the lion inside the fold to regulate the sheep ! 
Once the Bishop got his hand on our affairs, Thorn- 
ton would straightway lose a liberty or forego a 
privilege. You may trust the Dean to manage 
without the Bishop! His Grace would have a 
candidate for the office vacated by the Abbot’s 
discipline, and Dean Fletcher might not be the 
man! Mark me; you will see no Bishop in this 
affair!” 

“Bishop or no Bishop, something will happen. 
At compline last night the gossip was of severe 

[ 131 1 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

measures. The Fletcher men are determined on 
that. ’Twas said we should discipline the body to 
save the soul. It would never do to let the Abbot 
resign and wed. Too many might follow that 
pleasant path! An Abbot’s punishment might 
save many to the rule. A White Newhouse Canon, 
recently returned from Italy, told us how that Pope 
Urban had tortured for their sins even Cardinals, 
until they had died! He openly advocated trial 
for the Abbot, and the severest penalty, should he 
be found guilty. The White Canons are ever 
ready to discipline the Black, you know!” 

“But I see no way whereby we may discipline 
an Abbot,” persisted Brother Thomas. “Let 
him resign, and wed!” 

“The Dean will find a way!” retorted Brother 
Paul. “You’ll see! A clever way, that will hide 
itself ! Abbot Thomas will never wed ! How queer 
it is! The Abbot wants the woman of the Manor 
House; the Dean wants the land! I wager the 
Dean will win!” 

“I’ll wager my salvation,” Brother Thomas 
retorted, “that the Dean would grab the woman 
too, if he could get her! She’s right fair to look 
upon!” 

Between Nones and Vespers that same day, 
Dean Fletcher issued from the Deanery, wrapped 
equally well in his habit and in meditation. His 
thin face was impassive and showed no knowledge 
of the prevailing temper of the Abbey, though, 
as a matter of fact, it was of his own clever instiga- 

[ 132] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tion. A group of monks at the fountain halted the 
common gossip as he passed, but the Dean seemed 
neither to see nor hear. On his way, he glanced 
at the dial, but saw not the hour, though the sun, 
having conquered the fog, still cast a sharp shadow. 
His steps were bent toward the Abbot’s House, 
and he seemed preoccupied. As he turned towards 
the old Gate House, the Dean’s eye, which had 
been blind to everything else, evidently saw Guilbert 
de Rouen, who was seated on a bench in the vesti- 
bule of the Chapter House, and his face relaxed 
into a smile, and he changed his course across the 
garth toward the architect. 

“Congratulations, Guilbert mine, upon the com- 
pletion of your work at the Abbey!” exclaimed 
the Dean, with outstretched hand. “You have 
fulfilled your contract well. Whither go you 
next?” 

“Knew you not, Dean Fletcher? The church 
at Thornton needs repairs. My men and I leave 
the Abbey tomorrow. Awhile we shall be busy 
at the parish church. After that I know not yet 
where we go. There’s work enough, never fear. 
The Bishop spoke of work to be done in the 
cathedral. We may go to Lincoln, when we are 
through at Thornton.” 

“We shall miss you greatly, Guilbert. God 
speed you in the big outside world.” The Dean 
lapsed into silence, and marked the pavement with 
his toe, his eyes upon the ground, as though bal- 
ancing in his mind matters of grave moment. 
[ 133] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Guilbert thanked him for his kindly interest, and 
waited. Presently the Dean continued: 

"Guilbert mine, I envy you your range of the 
world. You breathe keen air from city to city. 
You meet the world’s men, and stay with them 
only so long as you and they are fresh the one to the 
other, then you away to new men and new problems. 
But for me, the moat of this house is my horizon. 
The problem of these poor souls is with me till it 
stales, and doggedly it stays mine even then. The 
good Lord forgive me if I weary of it at times! 
Just now am I sorely perplexed and know not what 
to do.” 

The Dean had seated himself on the bench, 
opposite Guilbert. He rested his elbows on his 
knees and buried his face in his hands discon- 
solately. Guilbert was touched by this unusual 
exhibition of feeling. 

"Why, Dean Fletcher! What unmans you?” 
he said, sympathetically. "Has aught gone amiss?” 

The Dean remained silent, his face still in his 
hands. Evidently his burden was heavy. At 
length he answered, his voice sad: "You are going 
from our Abbey life, Guilbert, and I may trust my 
burden to your keep. Perhaps you can counsel 
me, for you are wise, as men count wisdom. It 
may have escaped your ken, but the discipline of 
this house is sorely undermined by the evil example 
of one man’s grave sin. It is a delicate and difficult 
matter, but the solution of it devolves on me, and 
I know not what to do.” 

[134] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


It was unusual for an ecclesiastic to seek counsel 
from a layman in matters spiritual, but Guilbert’s 
peculiar training had given him intimate knowledge 
of monastic life, so he was not entirely on foreign 
ground when he asked the Dean to tell him plainly 
of his troubles. 

“The breach is of the rule of chastity,” answered 
the Dean, in tones entirely hopeless. 

“Why not inform the Abbot, convene the Chap- 
ter, and deal with the offender according to the 
canons? To a layman that would seem to be 
the thing to do,” answered Guilbert, surprised 
that a course so obvious had not already been 
taken. 

A faint smile fleeted over the Dean’s face. He 
turned to his companion gravely. “You strike the 
very heart of my problem.” Then he hesitated, 
as if loath to go on. “It grieves me to say it,” 
he continued, “but, — measure my perplexity, Guil- 
bert de Rouen, if you can, — Abbot Thomas him- 
self is the transgressor! How can a stream be 
pure if its source be polluted?” 

Guilbert was astounded. Dean Fletcher deftly 
detailed the story, without, however, identifying 
the woman in the case. To Guilbert the affair was 
horrible, incredible, impossible. Impatiently he 
broke in upon the Dean. 

“There is some hideous mistake! Investigate. 
Run the foul gossip to earth! Sift Dame Rumor’s 
reports! You will find the Abbot is guiltless. I 
tell you Abbot Thomas is innocent! The man is 

[135] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the very soul of honor. ’Tis all gossip, the foul 
machination of the devil!” 

“Alas! Alas! Guilbert, would that what you 
say were true! But I may not disbelieve mine 
own eyes. Personally I know gossip speaks truth. 
I myself saw them together in the oak room of the 
Manor House. They were sitting on the couch, 
opposite the open lattice. The woman Heloise 
rested her head on his shoulder, and they cooed 
and billed like two turtle-doves.” 

Guilbert sprang to his feet, amazed, disgusted. 

“Slanderer!” he cried. “How dare you link 
her name thus with the name of a monk, and hint 
that she could even dream of wrong? You blas- 
pheme a virtue you cannot understand! ’Tis a 
lie, I say!” 

The Dean smiled faintly at Guilbert’s vehemence. 
He too had risen, and stood before Guilbert, slowly 
shaking his head, as though profoundly sorry that 
the lot had fallen upon him to disillusion so good 
a man of so high an ideal. Guilbert turned to go, 
biting his lip to control himself. The Dean ad- 
vanced and put a firm hand upon his shoulder, 
and said, gently and gravely, and with a great 
show of sympathy. 

“I know it seems impossible, and it is intolerable,” 
he said, sadly. “I, too, have your feeling in the 
matter. How could two so high fall so low? But 
with mine own eyes and ears I saw and heard.” 

The Dean paused a moment, as though reluctant 
to finish, than added — “Guilbert, you must believe 

[ 136] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


it. ’Twas in August I first saw them, and the 
foulness has been growing worse ever since. What 
shall I do? Common report has it that the Abbot 
will resign to wed. Such evil times! Truly the 
heart is deceitful and desperately wicked!” 

Dean Fletcher strode off towards the old Gate 
House. St. John, fishing in the moat, noted signs 
of happiness on the Dean’s thin face as he passed, 
and wondered what had set him chuckling almost 
to the point of laughter. 

There was no smile on Guilbert’s face. He hud- 
dled into a corner of the stone bench, sick at heart, 
nauseated .with the world. The Dean’s words 
explained so much in the relationship of the Abbot 
and Heloise which had been a daily puzzle to him, 
that there must be some truth in them. His whole 
soul rebelled against the situation ; it was so unnat- 
ural, so preposterous, so impossible, so unlike either 
Heloise or Abbot Thomas. To be rivaled was 
bad enough, — but by a monk, and that monk his 
friend — the Abbot! The thought was unbearable; 
the fact would be hell. Half an hour he sat shiver- 
ing on the edge of this new, bitter, unknown world. 
Then strength stole into his heart. He arose and 
traversed the church homeward. At the chancel 
he turned and knelt awhile before the altar. His 
prayer was that he might be worthy of her, and that 
she might be saved from the evil of the world. 
New faith in Heloise and in God strengthened him 
as he passed out of the church. 


[ 137 ] 



CHAPTER X. INQUISITION 


CHAPTER X 

INQUISITION 

IN WHICH SHADOWS DEEPEN ABOUT THE PATH OF 
A GOOD MAN, AND THE THORNTON CANONS WAX 
SOLICITOUS ABOUT THE WELFARE OF THE 
abbot’s SOUL 

At the peep of dawn in the month of May — after 
a pitiless winter, in which cold and hunger had 
further fostered the spirit of revolt among the 
villeinage over the land; during which time, kept 
alive by his continual monstrous depredations, the 
dread of the Green Devil had increased in castle, 
church, and cot; during which time, also, the spirit 
of faction in the Abbey had developed into a most 
bitter feud, and had made a breach which the good 
living of the Abbot was powerless to heal — Dean 
Fletcher was dressing himself in his bedroom at 
the Deanery. Gregorian harmony floated the 
poetry of the Shepherd Psalm to him across the 
garth from the church, but both psalm and music 
m issed their m ark this m orning. The Dean seem ed 
to be greatly preoccupied, and a manifest nervous- 
ness would seem to indicate that he was apprehen- 
sive of something threatening either his person or 
his plans. The movements necessary to the 
putting on of his garments he punctuated by fur- 
tive glances into the corners of the room , where the 

[ 141 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


shadows were still untouched by the slow dawn. 
Darkness did not seem to be congenial to him, 
possibly because he was alone. When daylight 
came, doubtless he would be happier. 

After fastening the latchet of his sandals, he 
stepped to a little stand at the head of his bed and 
poured out a bumper of ale, and drained it to the 
last drop. Returning the horn to the table with 
a gesture of impatience, he exclaimed to himself, 
“To the foul fiend with dreams and visions of the 
night! Am I a girl, that I should be afraid of 
shadows? Or come ghosts to the Abbey at 
Thornton?” 

Then he laughed uneasily, and a footfall under his 
window startled him. He wiped perspiration from 
his brow, and under his breath muttered, “Why 
should I fear?” 

B u t he eyed the shadows again ! Courage seem ed 
to come with reflection, for he went the round of the 
room , poked his foot where the shadows lay thickest, 
moved the tapestry with his hand so that the 
hanging folds shook out their shadows. When he 
had thus proved nothing but himself in the room, 
he fell into an uncomfortable little laugh. “Well 
knew I there was naught but shadows! My con- 
science is cowardly.” 

Something in the expression touched a hidden 
spring of merriment. “Conscience! Conscience!” 
he exclaimed, “Ha! Ha! Conscience — a conven- 
ient figment of monkish imagination!” 

He had spoken only sotto voce , but the undertone 
[142] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


of his own voice seemed to affect him even more 
than the shadows. The very picture of discomfort, 
he dropped into a chair, and shut his jaws tightly 
as though to prevent further speech. The peculiar 
nervous idiosyncrasy which was so characteristic 
of the man’s inner nature asserted itself. Like 
the forked tongue of a poisonous snake his wiry 
tongue flashed between his thin lips, and, moving 
from corner to corner of his mouth, left behind a 
glistening strip of moisture, which, however, the 
incessant fever of his nature speedily dried up again, 
and called for a repetition of the operation. 

The door of the Dean’s wardrobe, off from his 
bedroom, stood ajar, and one could see, hanging 
in their places, rows of ecclesiastical garments in 
somber black, relieved here and there with strips 
of color where hung the brighter vestments of the 
church. A green vestment hung among the rest. 
Likely it had been last used, and so had been hung 
near the door. Perhaps yesterday the rubric had 
called for green vestments, the color which sym- 
bolizes Hope and Peace. Evidently green was not 
to be used in the ritual of to-day. For the Dean 
arose, picked up some articles from the floor, and 
carried them into the closet. When he returned, 
the green vestment was out of sight. Doubtless, 
the next day for its use was some distance down the 
calendar, and the Dean carried the bright color 
into the more remote parts of the wardrobe, there to 
hang until the Sacred Year should bring on another 
day proper for its use. 

[143] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


His toilet ended, the Dean pushed aside the 
portiere of tapestry and entered the adjoining 
room. The light was now sufficient to define the 
objects in the room, and the Dean’s spirits arose 
accordingly. He rang a small bell which stood 
upon the table, then turned to his desk and began 
to sort the confusion of parchments with which it 
was burdened. Presently, in answer to the bell, 
the door opened and a lay servitor entered. 

“You may bring me refreshments, William,” 
said the Dean. “Anything you have. I am hun- 
gry, and have dispensation to break fast.” 

In due time viands were set upon the table, 
and the Dean ate with such appetite that one 
would judge supper must have been omitted from 
his fare the day before. As the servitor left the 
room the Dean remarked, “You may tell Brother 
Geoffrey to report to me here before tierce.” 

The Dean concluded his disposition of the mut- 
ton pasty in a manner that should have driven 
pallor from his cheek. But whatever were the 
Dean’s prospects, they failed to bring him quiet. 
He was agitated and expectant. He cast frequent 
glances sunward, as though the early morning 
hours were long. Shortly before tierce Brother 
Geoffrey appeared, and the Dean turned eagerly 
to greet him. 

“Well, Geoffrey, what find you? What is the 
outlook?” Through a mask of gaiety anxiety 
showed in the Dean’s tones. “Be seated. Tell me 
what you know.” 


[ H4i 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The monk took a stool and began. “The time 
is surely ripe. The major part of the Brotherhood 
desire to proceed to judgment. Abbot Thomas 
has not more than half a dozen monks left in the 
Abbey. The pious fools affect not to believe the 
Abbot guilty! But we need not fear them. The 
pious are ever easy to manage ! They are so simple !’ ’ 
With a lively sense of favors to come at the hands 
of the new Abbot, the monk continued. “There 
is undoubtedly enough evidence at command to 
convict and to depose the Abbot. Once he were 
out of the way, you would have the vacant chair, 
Bishop or no Bishop.” 

The Dean’s face was a study. He meditated 
awhile, tapping the table with his fingers, then he 
spoke in an even voice. “Brother Geoffrey, we 
must proceed carefully. It were a sin to bring a 
false accusation against the Lord’s anointed. But, 
what saith gossip on the garth upon the question 
of punishment? Heard you aught of that?” 

“As you know, Dean Fletcher, one cannot tell 
beforehand what the Chapter may do. But the 
Brotherhood is a unit in that something should be 
done for the good of the Abbot’s soul, and all desire 
adequate punishment. Without that, discipline 
in the Abbey is at an end, and more than one soul 
may be lost. Better one suffer than all! The 
Chapter, however, must decide what the punish- 
ment shall be. But, by Saint Satan, I do not think 
the sentence will be light!” 

“Here comes another with report, unless I miss 

[ 145 ] 


10 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


my guess,” answered the Dean, and added, as 
Brother Geoffrey rose to go, “Nay, you need not 
go. There is no secret between us three.” 

There came a knock at the door. In obedience 
to the Dean’s command Brother Benedict stepped 
into the room. 

“The Abbot hath left the Abbey,” said he, mani- 
festly excited. “He hath gone to Barrowe, to 
overlook the house of Roger the clerk. Repairs 
were reported needed. The Abbot thought best to 
entrust the setting of them afoot to no one but 
himself. He will not be back till sunset, — so I over- 
heard him tell St. John. He must now be as far as 
Thornton on his way.” 

With this Brother Benedict withdrew. The 
Dean turned to Geoffrey, the suppressed feeling 
of the morning now riotous in his face. 

“I knew he would be Barrowe- ward today! 
While he’s gone the Dean rules — so saith the rubric! 
Go, convene the Chapter at Nones, a special, ur- 
gent session! In my name send St. John with the 
Abbot’s men — you know who they are — to New- 
house to inquire whether the Brethren have trace 
of the treasure- trove the Green Devil stole. ’Twill 
keep them busy till tomorrow! The die will be 
cast before sun-down today!” 

A green light gleamed in the Dean’s eye as he 
turned to his desk. His lips came together very 
firmly. The nervous grip of his thumb and finger 
crushed his quill flat, and the neb scratched on 
the parchment as he wrote furiously. Evidently 
1 146] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he was set on a purpose, and would pursue it to the 
end. Perhaps his long-sought goal was almost 
in sight! 

After a short psalm and lection in the chancel at 
Nones the Dean led the Brotherhood into the 
Chapter House. As he looked upon the sedilia 
crowded with his brethren, all tense with illy sup- 
pressed feeling, a faint smile flitted across his face. 
The monks were eager to anticipate what might 
take place. Beneath the surface, the Dean was 
not less anxious, but outwardly he was calm. 

The Dean arose to lay a painful matter before 
the Chapter. It was his sorrowful duty to attaint 
the Abbot of evil living. The woman Heloise, of the 
Manor House, — whose lands ought to be on the 
Abbey roll, — was as bad as the Abbot’s wife, to 
the great scandal of the Brotherhood. They 
well knew the facts. The evidence was a matter of 
public fame. He was reluctant to proceed against 
a man otherwise so worthy, but only rigorous 
discipline would save the Abbot’s soul. It was 
kindly to proceed during the Abbot’s absence, for 
thus would they prevent public humiliation. He 
would introduce certain evidence, then the Chapter 
would be ready to proceed to judgment. 

“Call Brother Brown,” said the Dean quietly, 
moistening his lips. 

Skilful questioning brought from the simple 
man the story of his confession. His sin had been 
that of entertaining woman in his thought. He had 
made public confession at Matins one day in the 
[ 147 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


autumn of the year. Dean Fletcher had com- 
manded him to carry his confession to Abbot 
Thomas. 

“I went to the Abbot,” continued the monk, 
unconscious that he was but a tool in the hands of 
crafty men. “ I knelt at his feet and repeated my 
confession. Instead of censuring me, the Abbot 
wept. He lifted me to my feet, and set me on a 
stool by his side. Then he chatted with me 
merrily, and made me tell him all about when I 
was a boy, and went a-fishing to the river. He 
did not seem to care about my sin. When I 
asked him for penance he put his hand upon 
my head and said, ‘My poor Brother! My poor, 
poor Brother!’ Then he turned his head away and 
laughed, but did not seem to laugh at me. He 
laughed until he cried. Then he told me that 
women were not devils. His mother and mine 
were women, he said, and we owed them all we have. 
The nuns, too, were women; so were our sisters 
according to the flesh. He said we could not 
keep women out of our mind, and I half believe 
he spoke the truth! Then, to himself rather than 
to me, he said that the follies of the monks ought 
to be enlightened, and that if the blind led the 
blind both would wander into the ditch, — which 
expression I did not understand, and do not now.” 

1 ‘What penance did the Abbot impose ?” queried 
the Dean, sharply. 

‘‘He told me to go away and think my mind full 
about God, about His Son, and about His Blessed 
[ 148] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Mother, to harbor sweet thoughts and kind, and 
that with such resisting of the devil he would 
surely flee away. Those were the Abbot’s very 
words.” 

A great sensation swept the assembly. To these 
men the penitent monk’s testimony damned the 
man whose fine soul it so artlessly revealed. There 
could be no doubt whatever of the Abbot’s awful 
guilt! 

Dean Fletcher arose to the occasion. The fear 
of the morning’s early twilight had left him. What- 
ever might be the price of success he was now ready 
to pay. He explained to the assembly that he him- 
self had long held the Abbot guiltless. The tongue 
of gossip was a deadly weapon and ought to be 
silenced. He would condemn no man on mere 
rumor. Had there been no other evidence than 
that already submitted, the inquisition had never 
been held. But it was his painful duty to introduce 
the evidence of his own eyes. 

Very reluctantly he told them that one day last 
summer, as he passed an open casement at the 
Manor House, he was shocked beyond measure 
to see the Abbot and Heloise reclining together 
upon a couch in the old oak room. It was not 
necessary to specify further particulars. He knew 
personally and particularly that the Abbot was 
guilty of evil relations with the Lady Heloise of 
the Manor House. Furthermore, Brother Brown’s 
evidence clearly showed how the Abbot’s sin had 
incapacitated him for the administration of dis- 

[149] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


cipline. The very foundations of the Abbey were 
threatened by its Head’s lax living. For the sake 
of the Abbot’s soul, the Dean would be obliged to 
cast his vote in favor of condemnation. The 
punishment should be both remedial and exemplary. 

The Dean drew a parchment from his sleeve, 
and continued, ‘‘Furthermore, Brethren mine, here 
is additional and incontrovertible proof of the 
Abbot’s guilt. He placed this parchment in my 
hands this morning, before he went afield. Let 
me read. 

‘To the Chapter of St. Mary’s at Thornton, 
Greeting : 

Hereby I tender my resignation of the Abbacy 
at Thornton, to take effect July first next. I still 
love the Austin rule, and the old monastic life. 
But changed times bring new duties. The monas- 
tic life no longer provides the best means for the 
furtherance of the old religion. To be true unto 
myself, and to promote the gospel, I must forth 
into a larger world, to live an ampler life. 

Thomas de Gretham.’ ” 

The Dean resumed his seat. Brothers Geoffrey 
and Benedict looked at each other and smiled, the 
logic of this resignation was so good! Silence fell 
upon the Brotherhood. Perhaps here was an easy 
way out! Let the Abbot resign! Thus would 
the Dean become Abbot without friction. Also 
the lands of the Manor House would doubtless 
soon belong to the Abbey. 

1 150] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


But, alas — ! Only the enlightened love the sim- 
ple and the straightforward. The closer to the 
primal men live, the more clever mere animal 
cunning seems to be. It seems wise to be tor- 
tuous, clever to keep one’s direction in a maze. 
Moreover, here was an immortal soul at stake! 
Ought the Brotherhood to allow the Abbot to 
resign in order that he might wed, and so lose his 
soul? 

“ Ballot!” cried the Dean. “Black condemns; 
white acquits.” 

Silence came a moment or two, broken shortly 
by the noisy hail-like staccato of the little spheres 
as the monks dropped them one by one into the 
brass box. Gradually the confusion quieted, till 
when the Dean arose to announce the result a 
silence laden with suspense rested on the Brother- 
hood. The Dean’s face was pale, his lips were very 
dry, and he steadied himself on the table by which 
he stood. 

“There — are — no — white — balls,” he announced, 
slowly, impressively. “All — are — BLACK! Abbot 
Thomas is — is deposed !” 

A furtive look crossed the Dean’s face as he spoke, 
as though he caught a distant glimpse of certain 
consequences of this action. But he held himself 
firmly to his task. The suspense among the monks 
broke into a buzz of excited conversation that did 
not end until Brother Geoffrey called attention to 
the fact that the sentence remained yet to be 
fixed. 


[I5i] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Then came animated though grave discussion. 
The sentence ought to be severe ; it must be secret. 
But how combine severity with secrecy? Not an 
iota of the matter must leak beyond the walls, at 
least not until the Brotherhood had selected a 
new Abbot, or the Bishop would be sure to inter- 
fere. 

It was the Dean who suggested the solution to 
the problem. Let both the sentence and its execu- 
tion be delegated to a commission of three. Let 
the commission arraign the Abbot, listen to, and 
duly weigh, any defense he might make, then pass 
upon him suitable sentence — all under a most 
solemn oath of secrecy. 

Under this astute plan not even the Brotherhood 
would know that a sentence had been passed, or 
have an inkling of the nature of it, or of the manner 
of its execution. Neither the Abbey nor the outside 
world would ever know how the Brotherhood dis- 
ciplined its Abbot. The presidency of the commis- 
sion fell upon the Dean himself, with Brothers 
Geoffrey and Benedict as assessors. When the 
Chapter broke up these judiciaries retired to the 
Deanery for conference. 

As soon as the garth was clear, Brother Geoffrey 
emerged, crossed towards the shops, and shortly 
returned with two lay brothers, whom he led into 
the Deanery. The Dean and Brother Benedict 
were busy at the table when Brother Geoffrey 
ushered in the laymen. The Dean looked the two 
men squarely in the eye. “Will Winter, so you 
[ 152 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


would belong to the Brotherhood?” he inquired. 
“And you, too, Jim Stubbs?” 

“Aye! We would, if we be counted worthy,” 
Winter answered for both. The men shuffled 
about uneasily under the spell of the Dean’s eye. 

“ ’Tis well,” answered the Dean. “Obedience 
is the prime virtue; unquestioned, perpetual obe- 
dience, in things small as well as great. Blind 
obedience and absolute secrecy are lessons you must 
learn to-day! I shall assign you a simple task that 
may seem strange. You must do it secretly, with- 
out question. Speak never a word of it one to 
another, to any of us, or to any soul within or 
without the Abbey walls, so long as you shall live, 
on penalty of everlasting fire. Will you obey?” 

“Aye! Aye! We will obey!” the men answered, 
supposing that they assented to a part of the 
rubric of initiation into the order to which they 
aspired. 

“I told you, Winter, about the Ghost that haunts 
Abbot Thomas’s bedroom. We lay the trap for 
it tonight. Half an hour hence, meet me at the 
place and I will show you what to do. Remember 
to keep the matter secret. Obedience will get you 
into the Brotherhood. Are you ready for the 
oath?” Dean Fletcher continued. The three 
monks arose solemnly, and the Dean administered 
the oath. 

“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy 
Ghost, of the Blessed Virgin and the Holy Saints, 
you do swear instant, unquestioned, complete 
[ 153 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

obedience to your Superiors and to the Austin 
Order, this day and forever. Most solemnly you 
do swear to forever keep secret the commands 
of this day, and also their execution. If you fail 
to do jot or tittle, or if jot or tittle of what you do 
escape your lips, may the hair of your head be 
turned to thistles, your skin dry on your flesh like 
parchment, your limbs rot in their sockets and fall 
away. May terror pursue you by day and ghosts 
gibber at you by night, and the Devil hale you to 
the Pit long before you are dead!” 

Answering a glance, Brother Geoffrey handed the 
Dean two arrows, and Brother Benedict set on the 
table a tiny bowl half filled with a sickly green 
liquid. In calm, mesmeric tones the Dean con- 
tinued, “This is deadly poison.” He coolly stirred 
the liquid with the tips of the arrows. “The 
slightest scratch from these means instant death! 
Stand stock-still, on your lives!” 

The Dean flourished the poisoned tips, one in 
each hand, close to the ashen faces of the astounded 
men. “If a syllable of this initiation ceremony 
escape your lips, I will have you butts for these 
tipped arrows. Put the arrows in the yellow 
quiver, ready,” he added to Geoffrey, handing him 
the shafts. To the trembling laymen, he then 
continued, in the short sharp tones of order. “A 
pile of brick lies near the Abbot’s kitchen door. 
Clean them up ready for use, and stack them in 
the kitchen. Slack lime and make mortar, enough 
and more, to lay the brick. With your tools be 

[ 154] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


ready to lay the brick at any moment I may call 
you. Fail not, under your oath, or arrows from 
the yellow quiver shall stick you before the sand 
changes in an hour-glass!" Go!” 

As the men went out the Dean said, “The fools 
will be as secret as the grave they build!” 


[155] 



CHAPTER XI. AN ABBOT’S MAYING 



CHAPTER XI 


AN ABBOTS MA YING 

WHICH SETS FORTH THE MIRACLE OF SPRING IN THE 
HEART OF MAN AND MAID, AND RECORDS HOW 
THE ABBOT NERVED HIMSELF FOR A PEOPLE’S 
QUEST, ALL UNCONSCIOUS THAT AUGHT SINISTER 
LAY ACROSS HIS PATH 

It was a care-free Abbot who inspected the cot- 
tage of Roger the clerk at Barrowe the day of the 
Thornton Inquisition. His resignation of the Ab- 
bacy proved to be the cutting of a Gordian knot 
that rolled a heavy load off his shoulders. A strange 
elation lightened his step and brightened his world, 
and a song without words lilted itself in his heart. 
His pathway now seemed clear, and the holiday 
spirit within him joyed in the glad summer day. 
He was as happy as though he were a boy again. 
The excellent Roger and his spouse, bubbling over 
with hospitality, were grateful for the visit of a man 
so distinguished. The house certainly needed re- 
pairs, — the roof should be re- thatched ; a new door 
should replace the one hung by the mechanic who 
built the house a hundred years ago ; and the kitchen 
plainly needed a new lattice. The Abbot promised 
to send the Thornton mechanics on the morrow. 

Beneath the blossom of the orchard the Abbot 
and the clerk visited together, while the good dame 

[159] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


prepared dinner and put the house in order. All 
about them birds were nesting, and the air was laden 
with the fragrance of spring flowers. The drone 
of bees proclaimed the presence of a row of hives 
among the bushes at the bottom of the garden. 
Nature’s music was everywhere, and the men’s 
hearts were gladly in tune. They talked of Brother- 
hood, of the hard social conditions fast ripening into 
revolt, of the sad plight of the villeinage, which 
surely must be mended soon, or worse would come 
of it. The twain were inspired by the Spring-tide 
hope that things were about to be better. From 
his pouch the Abbot produced a small volume and 
read aloud : — 

“Lo here is fellowship: 

One faith to hold, 

One truth to speak, 

One wrong to wreak. 

One loving cup to sup, 

And to dip 

In one dish faithfully, 

As lambkins of one fold : 

Either for other to suffer all things. 

One song to sing, 

In sweet accord to make much melody. 

Right so thou and I good fellows be : 

Now God us thee! ” 

“I make more copies of that,” quoth the clerk, 
“than of anything else, unless it be Wyclif’s 
Vernacular. ’Tis a noble vision. Suppose you, 
’twill ever come true, Abbot Thomas? ” Something 
wistful lurked in the clerk’s face and voice. 

“All vision tends to fulfill itself, my son, as the 
[160] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


slow years go by/’ answered the Abbot. Then, per- 
haps because of the disappointment which clouded 
the clerk’s face by reason of this tacit postpone- 
ment of the triumph of the People’s Cause, he added 
more hopefully, “Brother Roger, even you and I may 
live to see mankind on a pilgrimage to Truth. When 
men seek truth our wrongs will soon be ended. 
But, patience! We must have patience — the pa- 
tience of Job and of Noah, my son, that suffers 
in quietness while it halts not the building of the 
ark!” 

Laughter, merry and child-like, floated up from 
the bottom of the orchard, where a sturdy lad and a 
buxom lass hunted bird-nests in the hedge. The 
men’s attention was attracted by the idyl, and they 
could but overhear. 

“It’s a cuddy!” cried the boy, and the girl ran 
to him. Then two heads, close together, peered 
into the bush, the boy holding the thorns aside 
that his sister might see the newly found nest. 

“One! Two! Three! Four! Five!” the girl cried 
in ecstasy. “There’ll be another tomorrow! 
There’s the little mother! Don’t frighten her! 
Come away!” 

“Thine?” the Abbot asked the clerk, waving 
his hand towards the children. 

“Aye! Mine!” responded Roger. “’Tis truly a 
ponderous mystery ! I started to take holy orders, 
but Editha captured me, — or I captured Editha!” 
he added, whimsically, “before my vows were taken. 
I know not whether it was for the better or the worse. 

[ 161 ] 


u 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The best of the church, as we count the best things, 
has been closed to me, and I have been tied to 
outside pen and parchment. But my children have 
opened life to me more than all the books I have 
read. I never knew myself until I saw myself 
coming up again in the lad and lass. They tell my 
own story over again to myself. I am a better man 
for them, though for them I have missed so much 
that ecclesiastics count worth having. I have 
thought I would give them to the church. But! O, 
there’s a big ‘ but,’ I can tell you ! Doubtless it is of 
the Devil, but hardly dare I commit our babes to a 
life which would cut off from themselves the illumi- 
nation they have been to me. I fear’t is heresy, but 
they say Wyclif teaches that priests may marry. My 
experience points that way. What say you?” 

The Abbot listened gravely to this revelation 
of the clerk’s inmost heart, and answered, 
tentatively, and slowly, “Nay, my brother; I 
know not what to think. The mystery is too deep, 
and reaches too high. I — have — had — my — bat- 
tle.” Then he paused, and after reflection, which 
however did not bring the note of conviction into his 
voice, he added, “Perhaps the Poor Priests are 
right.” 

The youngsters’ quest drew them toward the 
bench beneath the apple tree, where the men sat, 
and their merry laughter floated up among the 
spring foliage. 

“Come hither, lambkins,” cried the Abbot. He 
made a place for them on the bench beside him, 
[ 162] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


and soon his wonderful fairy-tales opened wide their 
eyes. He told them of the beautiful princess who 
was locked in the haunted tower, and of the spirit 
of Evil which had thrown the pearly key down the 
well so that the Knight of Truth could not find it, 
though he hunted for it, through hunger and cold, 
by day and by night, o’er hill and dale. When 
dinner was announced, the Abbot, with a hand 
upon the head of each child, threaded the trim, 
box-lined gravel walks to the cottage, followed 
by the good Roger, who ruminated on the things 
which easily might have been for the Abbot. 

“You will not steal the eggs?” said the Abbot, 
as they entered the cottage. 

“Nay!” answered the lad sturdily. “Robbers 
steal, and the foul Green Devil!” 

The meal was seasoned with sprightly talk and 
fine courtesy. When the good dame’s viands had 
routed hunger, the genial Abbot found the pearly 
key for the children, and put it into the hands of the 
knight errant of Truth, who forthwith liberated 
the charming princess, and the wedding bells 
cracked themselves with j oy ! The children clapped 
their hands gleefully. At the sight of their happi- 
ness the good dame’s face wreathed with smiles, 
and Roger and the Abbot forthwith harked back 
to boyhood days. It was good to be alive this 
happy day in May, and to feel one’s heart beat 
sympathetically with the great world. 

It was two by the dial when the Abbot took his 
leave of the Clerk’s cot. At the village he sauntered 

[ 163] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


through the church yard, attracted by strains of 
worship coming from the church. There was but 
a bare handful of worshipers, and a couple of secular 
priests droned through the office of the hour. Un- 
observed the Abbot slipped in among the worshipers. 
’Twas good to pour out his heart to God who had 
made this glory of May for man and beast and bird. 
But, somehow, the service seemed bare and barren, 
and the church empty. Into the Abbot’s mind 
would troop England’s countless multitudes, in 
want and woe, untouched by the listless ministra- 
tions of the church. Unbidden, came into his mind 
Wyclif’s bands of Poor Priests — the priests and 
prophets of hedge and wayside. The Abbot had 
meditated much on the problem, and now it came 
upon him like a vision, that England’s lowly folk 
had in these Poor Preachers the friend and truth 
they needed, and that thus might villeinage be 
brought to know the yoke that is easy and the 
burden that is light. The Abbot’s heart bounded 
with a great gladness, and he sang the doxology 
with such spirit that all eyes turned upon him, and 
folk wondered why the Abbot of Thornton 
worshiped in the church at Barrowe. 

From the church the Abbot sauntered through 
the hamlet up the hill toward Thornton, switching at 
the wayside brush with his cane as he walked, 
humming blithely, now a troubador song, now a 
chant of the church. At the crest of the hill he 
rested on a boulder, and fell into meditation. 

There was much to think about. Ere this his 
[ 164] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


resignation would be public at the Abbey. He 
was glad to have it in his power to heal dissention 
in the Brotherhood — as he thought — by vacating 
his office. He rejoiced in the prospect of a united 
Brotherhood, though it would doubtless be under 
the rule of Dean Fletcher, of whose character he 
did not have a very high opinion. In an open 
glade close by, lambs frolicked in the sunshine. 
Perhaps lambs suggested shepherds, and shepherds 
led villeins by the hand into his thought. The 
Abbot took a little black book from his wallet and 
read : — 

“T have no penny pullets for to 1 buy, nor 
neither geese nor pigs, but twb green cheeses, a 
few curds and cream, and an oaten cake, and two 
loaves of beans and bran baken for my children. 
I have no salt bacon, nor no cooked meat collops 
for to make, but I have parsley and leeks and many 
cabbage plants, and eke a cow and a calf, and a 
cart-mare to draw a-field my dung while the drought 
lasteth, and by this livelihood we must all live 
till Lammas- tide, and by that I hope to have harvest 
in my croft.’ ” 

“I wonder not that the poor mistrust and hate 
us,” he murmured, as he brought forth another 
little book from his wallet, and in it found a much- 
thumbed place, where he read this significant 
passage from the pen of John Wyclif: — 

“The right to govern depends upon good govern- 
ment; there is no moral constraint to pay tax or 
i Sell 

[ 165 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tithe to bad rulers, either in the church or in the 
state; it is permitted to put an end to tyranny, to 
punish or depose unjust rulers, and to resume the 
wealth which the clergy have diverted from the 
poor.” 

He closed the black letter page and fell to think- 
ing. The picture of poverty drawn by William Lang- 
land was so true, every line of it, and also so sad. 
Moreover, what a tremendous suggestion was 
contained in this last line from Wyclif. But was 
the remedy of the Reformer just? Without doubt 
it was revolutionary. Put into effect, it would 
undoubtedly lead to bloodshed. But, despite the 
difficulties, the Abbot intuitively felt that John 
Wyclif was right, and his heart warmed towards 
the old man. The people held in their own hand 
the potent remedy for their woes. Taxes need not 
be paid if they were unjust, neither to Rome nor 
to London. But, were the people wise enough and 
strong enough to use this new creed? They sorely 
needed leaders. They were like sheep scattered 
and without shepherd. The Abbot pondered long, 
balanced the probable and the improbable, the 
possible and the certain in his mind, and the end 
of his meditation was that, mentally, he stole fully 
into Wyclif’s camp. Now that he was free from 
the Abbacy, he would devote his life to the better- 
ment of the poor, be a Wyclifite, heresy or no heresy, 
let the outcome be whatever it might. 

The struggle was wholly within. There was no 
outward sign of the greatness of the moment. So 
[166] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


undisturbed was the Abbot externally that the lambs 
left their playground to gambol about his feet. 
But when he resumed consciousness toward his 
outward environment the lambs scampered away! 

“All the world has learned to distrust a monk,” 
he murmured, with a touch of bitterness. Then, 
as though he would begin the new life straightway, 
he held out his hand, and the spirit that moved him 
from Assisi called, “Come, lambkins, come! Hurt 
you I will not. Come, come; come, lambkins!” 

And as nature’s simpler children answered the 
gentle spirit of St. Francis more than a hundred 
years before, so these timid lambs turned to the 
new Abbot, and he petted them; and, being a poet, 
he fancied the incident might be prophetic. Per- 
haps England’s scattered sheep might turn to the 
shepherd with the new spirit. Then he walked 
toward Thornton, planning his closing work for 
the Abbey as he went, outlining to himself his line 
of action when he should have laid down the ecclesi- 
astical crook. 

At Thornton he hurried by the inn and the church, 
and in a woodsy lane beyond he quickened his steps 
at the glimpse of a red kirtle in the road. Could 
it be? Yes! The Fates are kind to lovers! Heloise 
also, was a-Maying, and, with her arms laden with 
spring flowers, she advanced to meet her tutor. 

“A thousand blessings on you and your flowers,” 
was his greeting. 

“Do you bless things animate and inanimate 
equally, O indiscriminate?” she questioned play- 
[167] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


fully, pleasure mantling her cheek and dancing in 
her eyes. 

They turned toward the Manor House as natu- 
rally as though the act were strictly conventional. 
She invited him in to sup with her, and the happy 
man was glad to yield. He would eat salt with his 
pupil, and then away to the Abbey, where, truth 
to tell, he was not a little curious, and even anxious, 
to learn how his resignation had been received. 

Heloise ordered supper for two in a sequestered 
spot in the garden, and honest Martin Reeve served. 
While Martin spread the rustic table, — muttering 
to himself sundry objurations about the inconven- 
ience, and wondering why the Lady Heloise could 
not order supper indoors, the Abbot and Heloise 
sat together on the green grass. 

The spirit of May rested upon them. Heloise 
plucked flowers, and the Abbot responded with fairy 
tales, into which he wove the symbolism of lofty 
ideals that kindled her eye and set her blood a- tingle. 
His mood today made him half in jest, half in earn- 
est. A whimsical spirit like very witchery itself 
possessed the Abbot, and Heloise was quick to 
understand and appreciate the flashes of his genius. 
Her presence called him up into his better self. 
From the symbolism of fairyland they drifted among 
books and great clerks, spicing sober things with 
laughter, pouring their healthy merriment into the 
amphora of the ancient lore. Even here Heloise 
was the Abbot’s equal. Because she was his equal 
she seemed to him to be much more, for such intellec- 
[168] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tual equality between man and woman was very 
rare. 

The relationship between Heloise and the Abbot 
had become somewhat amended since its first dis- 
covery in the oak room at the Manor House. 
Experience had modified feeling. Significantly, 
it was the woman who had lifted the man to her 
exalted position. Without doubt the Abbot would 
have cut loose from his ecclesiastical vows to wed 
Heloise. But she held him strictly to his original 
high purpose, yet in such a way that he was con- 
tented and happy, and held her in constant rev- 
erence. 

After awhile a quiet fell about the table, as when 
all the birds stop singing in the woods before a 
thunderstorm. The Abbot and Heloise began to 
talk of the villeins and their troubles, and of how 
they might find a way to help the suffering poor. 

“ I have resigned the Abbacy,” he remarked cas- 
ually, when there came a pause. 

At the word Heloise caught a quick breath, and 
a shadow spoiled her face. “Nay, nay, my Lord! 
Tell me not that! Why should you resign? Have 
the gossips smoked you out?” she answered, dis- 
approval strong in her voice. 

“No, not exactly that! But it will be better for 
the House when I am gone. I have become a 
bone of contention, and ’ tis time I were buried out 
of sight! But there are other and weightier 
reasons. You and I, Heloise, have had a vision of 
the poor, and have been sobered by their plaint — ” 
[169] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Truly, truly,” she broke in upon him, fearing 
what might come. “But you will not, you must 
not, you cannot resign your office for that. That 
were to throw away power when power you most 
need. Think what it means to your future. 
You have won so far that, even tip- toe, I cannot 
see the end of your ecclesiastical career — a bishop- 
ric, Canterbury, Legate, and mayhap, St. Peter’s 
chair! In the tangle of our time strong men may 
win far. For the sake of your future you must 
keep the crook.” 

She spoke with conviction. The Abbot was 
quick to reply, “But you forget that my Abbot’s 
crook turns inward, and our vision has ever been 
outward. So crying a need have I seen beyond 
the moat that I cannot let stagnant water longer 
bound my shepherdhood. I leave Thornton to 
help shepherd England’s floundering poor. You 
cannot stand against that. You have preached 
the ideal, and I have followed you to your most 
distant March. Do you seek to turn me back now 
that I would turn your pagan frontier into God’s 
good country?” 

She was silent under his strong appeal, and her 
eye glistened, for he was greatly in earnest. 

The Abbot continued, “This is the way of it. 
The villeins, and all our folk below the salt, toil and 
foment, but have no shepherds, none to lead, none 
to teach, none to inspire. The church that should 
teach and lead has only plundered, has joined the 
human wolves to tear flesh as well as to shear 

1 170] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


wool! Why, look you! The very lands that are 
Thornton’s foundation, — how got we them? The 
Conqueror snatched them from the Saxons whom his 
sword had driven into outlawry. He gave his 
ill-gotten gain to his rapacious Norman retainers, 
to pay them for having cut Saxon throats. The 
thrifty Normans, upon their decease, handed 
them over to the Church, to further the repose 
of their unquiet souls, and so we rob the living 
to pray for the dead! And now the Dean is hot 
to steal your lands! ’Tis hard to restrain him! 
I wonder not that the poor neither love us, nor 
trust us! 

“But now comes the scholar of Oxenford,” 
continued the Abbot with enthusiasm, “preaching 
like a voice in the wilderness. And verily he seems 
to be the only man in all England with a message 
for our distracted times. He says our lands may 
be taken again by those to whom they rightfully 
belong; — and the religious houses do not love him ! — 
that we need not impoverish the land by paying 
foreign tax; — and both the popes have already 
damned him! — and, incidentally, that villeins need 
not pay the poll tax to the king; — and, of course, 
the Court will be a bitter enemy to him for that! 
His russet priests he sends out to instruct the poor, 
but most of them need instruction themselves. 
Now, I have knowledge, have seen the vision, have 
felt the bitter need, and forth from the cloister must 
I go to help old John Wyclif save the land and the 
church. He is a great man and a good, and he needs 
[ I7i ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


strong men to help. You, of all women, will not 
say me nay! You cannot, you dare not say me 
nay!” 

The Abbot was inspired by the greatness and the 
immediacy of his theme, and Heloise was so closely 
in sympathy with him that her spirit rose with his, 
and she caught his noble enthusiasm. Fears and 
tears passed, and she began to glory in the battle 
from afar. After all it was but the further fulfil- 
ment of her dreams. 

Then her quick woman’s sense perceived that 
his new freedom might endanger her exalted ideal 
for him. She read his eyes across the table. 
Weighing well her words, she said slowly and im- 
pressively, “You will not make your new doctrine 
an excuse to break the holy vows of priesthood, 
will you, Abbot Thomas?” 

“N — o — o,” he answered, the full force of her 
question sinking slowly, and withal, painfully 
into his mind. “No! I had not thought of that. 
Many of the Poor Priests are reputed to preach 
marriage for priests, and ’tis said some of them are 
wed. But Wyclif himself is celibate, and reports 
vary much as to his teaching on the subject, accord- 
ing to their source. I mistrust the Poor Preachers’ 
enemies malign them. Most of Wyclif’s priests 
keep their vows. No! A vow’s a vow, and I shall 
keep mine, if grace sustain me. I do but exercise 
my vow upon a wider field.” 

His answer reassured her, and the sunshine came 
again into her face. Then the Abbot rose to go, 
[172] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


for it would soon be dark. They walked through 
the court yard and across the drawbridge together, 
he unfolding his plans. 

Ralph Shepherd was in the tower, and as they 
passed, his eye rested upon them curiously. “By 
sonties,” he exclaimed, to the bats and owls, “I 
fear me the gossips do but speak the truth. A 
maid and a monk! Bah!” 

Just beyond the drawbridge Heloise stood watch- 
ing the Abbot as he walked toward the Abbey. At 
the first bend in the road he turned, and she waved 
her hand to him in farewell. He threw his hands 
into the attitude of benediction, stood there a 
moment, then turned and passed out of her sight. 

For a full minute she stood with head bent low, 
drinking in his blessing. Then she recrossed the 
bridge, spake “Good e’en” to Ralph at the wind- 
lass, passed on to her boudoir, and immediately 
rang for candles. 


[173] 


« 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 




CHAPTER XII 


THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 

IN WHICH THE DEAN OF THORNTON PLAYS A HIGH 
STAKE, AND THE ABBOT CLEARS THE WAY FOR 
THE DEAN’S AMBITION BY LOSING THE GAME 

Abbot Thomas hummed snatches of lively spring 
songs on his way from the Manor House to the 
Abbey. At the 'Gate House he was surprised to 
find the bridge up and the watch already set. He 
hallooed, and shortly the bridge came creaking 
down, and, passing over the moat he gave the 
porter his blessing. The west door of the Gate 
House was also closed and barred ! What could it 
mean? The Abbot knocked loudly, and presently 
the postern opened, apparently of its own accord. 
He stepped into the enclosure wondering greatly 
why these extra precautions had been taken. It 
looked as though the Abbey were expecting an 
immediate attack. Such care in locking up had 
been unknown all the time he had been Abbot. 

“Why are the gates closed so early? Are robbers 
about? Threatens the Green Devil the Abbey?” 
queried the Abbot sharply of whomever had opened 
the postern. But there was no one to answer! 
It was as though the postern had opened and closed 
itself! Moreover the garth was deserted, and not 
a foot-fall echoed in the cloisters. The Abbot was 

[ 177] 


12 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


slow to appreciate it — it was so far from his 
thoughts — but an air of the occult hung mysteriously 
about these unusual circumstances. 

Abbot Thomas crossed the garth at a quick 
pace, and threaded the cloisters straight to his 
own house. The door was closed and bolted, and 
no lights shone through the lattices. Then did 
the Abbot note that all the Abbey was dark. Not 
a torch glimmered anywhere; not a person was 
astir. A desert could not be more uncannily 
silent and uninhabited. He felt distinctly annoyed, 
and vented part of his rising feeling upon the bell 
rope that hung by the door. Presently he heard 
the bolts withdraw, and when the massive door 
began to swing he caught the sibilant sound of 
suppressed whispers. He stepped into the hall of 
his own house, and behind him the door closed, 
apparently of its own accord. It was strange, but 
no sooner was the door closed than the bolts grated 
back into place. His own door was locked behind 
him! The mystery nettled the Abbot. 

“Why this strange mummery?” he cried, his 
temper rising. “Bring lights immediately! Ho! 
John! Henry! Come at once with lights. Send 
St. John to me forthwith.” 

Instead of answer, out of the dark firm hands 
were laid upon his shoulders, and a muffled voice 
at his side said: “My lord the Abbot, you are 
under arrest. Make no noise. Resist not, and 
we will take you direct to your room where you 
will doubtless learn further of the matter.” 

[178] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Arrest!” exclaimed the Abbot, surprise and bit- 
terness mixed in his voice, “By whose orders, pray? 
And why?” 

“All in due time,” his captors remarked laconi- 
cally. They hurried him through the hall to his 
own private sitting room. There a candle burned 
on the table, and the fire crackled cheerily on the 
hearth. He had just time to note in the light of 
the room that his captors were two, that they were 
masked, and that they were muffled from crown 
to sole, when they withdrew, and he heard them 
turn the key in the door. 

The situation was not only annoying but it was 
getting serious. The Abbot tried the door leading 
to the parlor. It was bolted from the outside! 
Useless as he knew it to be , he tried the door by 
which the apparitors had brought him into the 
room. It, too, was barred. Had he not heard the 
key turn? He was a prisoner in his own house! 
Force of habit led him to ring the servant’s bell 
which stood on the table. For long years that 
little bell had been master of the Abbey, but now 
its tones fell flat upon the tapestry on the wall. 
There came no answer, though the Abbot, in danger 
of losing his self-possession, rang the bell violently, 
again and again. Then he threw himself into a 
chair, and tried to calmly face and reason out the 
puzzling situation. 

Something serious must have happened at the 
Abbey during the day. Probably his resignation 
had precipitated matters with the faction. What a 

[ 179] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


pity that he had spent the day at Barrowe. Had he 
been at the Abbey he might have guided affairs 
somewhat. At least he would have detected the 
enemy’s moves, and might have been able to check- 
mate them. But why should they touch his per- 
sonal liberty? There was a matter hard of solu- 
tion. Instinctively he felt that Dean Fletcher was 
responsible for this queer turn of affairs. But 
why should the Dean be his enemy? The Abbot 
had intended that his resignation should quiet the 
feud and unite the Brotherhood. Probably the 
Brotherhood’s feeling about his supposed relation- 
ship to Heloise was the reason for his arrest. But 
his absolute innocency relative to Heloise stopped 
him from taking that matter too seriously, even 
now. Investigation would prove the innocence of 
them both. The more he reviewed the situation 
the more calm he became, and the more certain 
of vindication for himself and his pupil. 

Then came the disquieting thought; — would his 
own person bound the vengeance of his enemies? 
Would they not also attack Heloise? Innocence 
did not blind him to the horror of what that might 
possibly mean to his pupil’s comfort. The Canons 
would surely blame her for his downfall! In their 
eyes, doubtless, he had fallen by reason of her 
having bewitched him! He would have laughed 
outright at the notion, it was so wide of the mark 
and exhibited such little knowledge of human 
nature, but for the uncomfortable fact that his 
helplessness made the situation too serious. While 
[ 180] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he was bound, with what peril might not Heloise 
be besieged? The bare thought frenzied him, it 
was so intolerable. He rang the bell again, f uriously, 
and again, and yet again, and he paced the floor in 
impotent anger. 

At length the Abbot calmed himself, and sat 
down to meditate. Thanks be to the blessed 
saints, Heloise was no mere girl ! Her wits were a 
match even for the Thornton Brotherhood ! More- 
over Sir William Wellham was powerful enough to 
protect his daughter against everything Dean 
Fletcher would be likely to stir against her. As for 
himself, in the end the Brotherhood would certainly 
accept his resignation, and he would be free to 
enter upon his campaign in behalf of England’s 
poor. If the worst came, he would appeal to the 
Bishop. The very threat to use that weapon would 
drive the Dean to compromise. So completely 
did the Abbot feel master of the situation, and so 
enthusiastic was he in his plans for the future, 
that he was actually far a-field with Wyclif’s cam- 
paign half an hour later when foot-falls in the 
corridor brought him back to the immediate situa- 
tion. 

The key grated harshly in the lock. When the 
door opened, his two apparitors looked upon the 
Abbot seated with unperturbed dignity, as though 
the situation was a mere incident of an every-day 
program. The Abbot’s calmness surprised them. 
Deference to the compelling character of a good 
man as much as mere force of habit, led the two 

[181] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


men to bow themselves, and from his chair the Abbot 
genially gave them the regular blessing. The muffled 
mysteries beckoned him, and he arose to go. 

“Whither? And why?” he inquired. 

But the mutes only led the way. As he passed 
into the corridor, however, one of them whispered, 
“We go to learn the will of the Chapter. You have 
fallen upon dark days. But have courage, Brother, 
matters may mend.” 

The kindly message failed not in its purpose. 
It identified his pathway, and replaced uncertainty 
with certainty. He was to appear before the Chap- 
ter. Good! There he would vindicate himself! 
There personal friends would be seasonable salt 
among his enemies, — a healthful, restraining influ- 
ence. There he would be done with these foolish 
mysteries, and would face his foes. A short cut 
out of his difficulties presented itself to him very 
attractively. He would make his resignation 
immediate! That would doubtless please the fac- 
tion and promptly secure his release. 

When the party reached the open air the Abbot 
was surprised to see that the Chapter House was 
not lighted. How remiss in their duties the breth- 
ren were to-day! His second surprise came when 
his guards passed the vestibule of the Chapter 
House, and, a few paces further on turned into the 
Chamber of Justice. A stone table stood across 
one end of the hall. Around the sides of the room, 
ran a finely carved stone bench, divided into sedilia 
by an arcade, providing seats for the Brotherhood 
[182] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


when justice was being dispensed. The Abbot’s 
third surprise came as a distinct shock. The walls 
of the chamber were draped with black, from the 
ceiling down! However, the hall was empty. On 
the table two candles wasted their yellow beams 
upon the somber drapery of the room. 

Though the black drapery of the hall chilled 
and sickened the Abbot, as it had been intended it 
should, the real significance of it did not immed- 
iately dawn upon him. Often had he admin- 
istered simple justice in that room. He had 
never been obliged to fall back upon such drap- 
ings to impress the occasion with judicial solemnity. 
Dean Fletcher was certainly taking himself seri- 
ously! Evidently discipline henceforth would fall 
with a heavy hand in the Abbey government. It 
was easier to be a disciplinarian than it was to be 
a good man! These dark embellishments of simple 
justice Dean Fletcher had imported from Southern 
France. The Dean’s elevation to the Abbacy 
would doubtless mean that the Abbey would be 
governed in the foreign spirit! So calm and vso 
detached from the occasion was the Abbot that, 
he ruminated upon the fact, with a little more 
than a suspicion of pleasure that the new Abbot 
would find the English spirit stubbornly opposed 
to the introduction of these insignia of the foreign 
Inquisition. He fancied that this might be the 
very rock upon which the new administration 
would go to pieces! The Abbot as well as the 
Dean was made of flesh and blood! 

[ 183] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

Presently the door opened and three monks 
entered, wearing their cowls. Life-long habit 
threw the hands of the Abbot into the gesture of 
benediction, prisoner though he was, and the same 
rigor of habit inclined the heads of the three monks 
to receive the blessing, albeit they manifested some 
confusion in the simple act. The newcomers 
seated themselves on the sedilia about the table, 
and pushing back their cowls, they revealed them- 
selves to be Dean Fletcher and the Brothers 
Geoffrey and Benedict. The Abbot’s guards fell 
back to the door, then stepped outside the chamber. 
The Abbot summoned himself to supreme self-con- 
trol in the presence of his enemies, upon what he 
instinctively felt was to be a decisive battle field. 

“Why am I detained? And why these mum- 
meries?” he demanded, throwing the questions 
directly at Dean Fletcher. That dignitary occu- 
pied his chair uneasily, and perforce must moisten 
his lips before he could make answer. Evidently, 
close quarters was trying to his nerves. At length, 
in a dry voice, whose tones cracked out from a 
parched mouth, he answered. 

“I am to inform you, Thomas de Gretham, that 
the Chapter met this afternoon to consider the 
grave irregularities of your life this year past. I 
presented your resignation to the Brotherhood, in 
the hope that it might make further proceedings 
unnecessary.” 

The lie ought to have choked the Dean, but it did 
not! The Dean merely faltered a little, and cast 

[ 184] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


about for further words. When he had again 
moistened his lips he continued, “Instead of ac- 
cepting your resignation, I am to tell you that the 
Chapter could do no other than count your parch- 
ment an indubitable evidence of your guilt, and 
therefore deposed you from the Abbacy.” 

The Abbot bowed gravely, a faint smile playing 
about the corners of his mouth, as though he saw 
through the Dean’s play. The Dean continued. 

“Your derelictions, and the public manner of your 
breaking your vows, were duly considered by the 
brethren, and passed upon. This Commission was 
appointed to hear such defense as you may wish to 
make, and to award you such penance as the gravity 
of your offense may call for. Have you aught to 
say, Father Thomas?” 

The omission of his title was not lost upon the 
Abbot. But he had himself well in hand. He 
merely asked, casually, “With what am I charged?” 

“With miscomportment towards the woman 
Heloise,” almost hissed the Dean, nettled by the 
Abbot’s coolness. Then he added, more mildly, 
“and with relaxing the discipline of the Abbey to 
the point of ruin, as a direct result of your entan- 
glement with that woman. You are charged with 
breaking the vows of priesthood, and with seeking 
to slip back into the wicked world and to enter 
matrimony — all this to the great scandal of the 
Brotherhood and the Church. What say you, 
Father Thomas?” 

The Abbot’s defense counted for nothing. An 

[185] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


appeal to the Bishop’s court brought a sickly smile 
to the face of Dean Fletcher. The Dean knew a 
better way, and a quicker; moreover, one more 
certain and effective! The Abbot told the simple 
truth about his relationship to Heloise. The 
transparency of his story, the simplicity and direct- 
ness of his appeal against arbitrary injustice, the 
lofty aim of the ambition he avowed to serve the 
poor of the lanes and hedges, appeared to make 
an impression on Geoffrey and Benedict. But the 
president of the Commission set his jaws the more 
firmly, and at length cut the Abbot short with, 
“Is this all you have to say? Against your mere 
words are innumerable facts known indubitably to 
us all. With mine own eyes saw I the woman 
Heloise reclining in your arms upon the couch in 
the Oak Room at the Manor House in August 
last! Fie on you! The laxity of your morals 
hath well nigh ruined the good name of the Abbey ! 
It is my duty forthwith to pass sentence upon 
you.” 

The Abbot would have spoken again, but the 
Judges arose, and Dean Fletcher overbore him to 
silence. “Thomas de Gretham,” said he, in fine 
solemn, judicial tones, “You are duly deposed from 
the Abbacy, as I said, and a minute to that effect 
is spread upon the records of the House. For 
the good of your soul you are sentenced to do the 
penance of solitary confinement in your own room, 
until you come to a better frame of mind, and do 
report personally to the Chapter that you will 
[186] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


amend your ways and will reaffirm and maintain 
your priestly vows.” 

“ Convey Thomas de Gretham to his chamber,” 
he commanded. Brother Geoffrey brought in the 
guards. “We will accompany you,” the Dean 
remarked when the guards had the prisoner again 
in charge. 

The Dean’s face was ashy white, and his com- 
panions were in a flutter of excitement. It was 
no small thing to condemn a superior arbitrarily. 
Moreover, the procedure was grossly irregular. A 
day of reckoning might be nigh! 

The Judges passed first out of the hall, and the 
guards followed with their prisoner. The strange 
procession recrossed the cloister garth. There 
was still no sign of life about the Abbey, and the 
enclosure was dark — all but the Abbot’s House, 
which was now well lighted, and the front door 
stood wide open ! The Abbot opened his eyes wide 
as he approached his illuminated quarters. What 
was happening had evidently been carefully planned. 
When the party had passed into the hall of the 
Abbot’s house, Brother Benedict stepped back, 
and locked and bolted the door! 

The hall terminated in a long corridor. On 
the right of the hall the door of the Abbot’s parlor 
stood ajar. Down the corridor on the right showed 
the door of the Abbot’s sitting-room, and a little 
further down, also to the right, was the door of the 
Abbot’s bedroom. A door between the parlor 
and sitting-room admitted of communication be- 

[187] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tween those two apartments. But there was no 
door to the bedroom except the one opening into 
the corridor. On the left of the corridor were 
closed doors leading to the Abbot’s dining-room 
and kitchen. 

The Abbot paused at the door of the sitting- 
room half way down the corridor, that being the 
room in which he had been confined earlier in the 
evening. Thereat Dean Fletcher shrugged his 
shoulders, and said simply, “No; the bedroom! 
Father Thomas will need the bed!” 

The procession moved a few paces further to the 
bedroom door, which stood wide open. A candle 
burning on a stand dimly outlined the contents of 
the room, — the bed in the corner ; a wash-stand with 
a pitcher of water, an ewer standing on the 
floor close by the stand; a small desk- table with 
shelves underneath bulging with books; a credence 
shelf at the back of the table on which glistened 
a grided crucifix, by the base of which lay the 
Abbot’s breviary; a table on which stood the can- 
dlestick; also two oaken chairs and a footstool. 
Dark tapestry draped the walls, figured with bibli- 
cal scenes. A bird fluttered about the room in 
evident distress. Probably it had gained access 
by the narrow splay window near the ceiling, 
some fifteen or twenty feet above the floor. 

The party halted at the bedroom door, and Dean 
Fletcher motioned the Abbot to pass in, himself 
and party staying outside in the hall. Nothing 
loth, the Abbot crossed the threshhold. He was 
[188] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

tired of this foolish mummery and was glad of an 
opportunity to be alone. To one who had fasted 
and prayed much, the prospect of a few hours, or 
even a few days, of solitary confinement not only 
had no terrors, but actually possessed some measure 
of attraction, especially when no stain of sin or 
wrong would make the hours bitter. Moreover, 
no place for penance could have suited him better 
than his own room. There were his books, he had 
his breviary, and the crucifix would be before his 
eyes till the term of his penance was ended. 

As the Abbot passed into the room he said to 
Dean Fletcher, “My man John may bring me food 
and water on the morrow.” 

It was a gentle command, and was very char- 
acteristic of the Abbot. The Dean muttered 
something which was understood to be, “All in 
good time; we will attend to your needs as you 
may make them known.” 

The Dean motioned the guards, and they de- 
parted. 

A sense of the unusual possessed the Abbot in 
his own room. The atmosphere seemed strangely 
close. It was tainted with an odor with which the 
new masonry of the church had familiarized him, 
but which just now the Abbot did not identify. 
So familiar was he with the room that he did not 
need the dim light of the flickering candle to find 
his way about. He stepped across to the large 
window at the foot of the bed, from which a thou- 
sand times he had enjoyed the scene of the open 

[ 189] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


area before the old Gate House, to throw open the 
casement for fresh air. When he stretched out 
his hand in the dusk, it came into contact with 
solid masonry! The window had been bricked 
up solid, flush with the wall! It was the odor of 
green masonry that had prompted the Abbot to 
move for fresh air. 

On a motion from the Dean, Brother Geoffrey 
closed the door upon the Abbot. The heavy door 
swung but slowly. At a creak of its hinges the 
Abbot turned quickly, and sprang toward the 
closing door, his face white, his eyes bulging with 
wild, sudden terror. But he was too late. The 
door of his tomb was shut forever. 

Dean Fletcher himself had the key half turned 
in the lock when the Abbot’s body struck the 
door. The Dean’s skinny face lighted evilly with a 
strange mixture of triumph and fear. In excited 
answer to the Abbot’s awful pounding on the door 
he hissed through his clenched teeth, “Ha! Ha! 
We have you now, my fine bird! The hen must 
thrive a while without the cock! — until in person, 
you do bring the Chapter word of your repentance ! 
By Saint Satan, ’tis a most rare sentence!” 

The fiend danced a hornpipe in the corridor to 
the awful pounding on the door from within. 
Geoffrey and Benedict looked on the Dean with 
amazement. They deafened their ears with their 
fingers against the man-sledge on the door, and 
turned to flee down the corridor. 

His companions’ action brought the Dean to 

1 190] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


himself. He threw himself across their way. 
“’Tis not done yet!” he cried. “Not yet!” 

He stepped across the corridor. Unlocking the 
kitchen door he spoke with sharp authority the 
one word “Come!” In response, the two lay 
brothers who would become novices, stepped into 
the hall, supposing what they did to be a test of 
their obedience to the order they would join. The 
Dean set them to work to brick up the door as they 
had earlier bricked up the window in the Abbot’s 
bedroom. The Dean’s own impatient hands laid 
some of the stone. The frenzied knocking upon 
the door from within while the wall arose, course 
by course, only spurred the Dean to fiercer haste. 

When the last brick was laid and the last course 
pointed, the Dean had the men clear the debris 
from the corridor, sweep the floor clean, and, 
finally, scrub away all traces . of the night’s dark 
deed. Then he dismissed the masons at the out- 
side kitchen door with a needless final objurgation 
to secrecy, locked the door behind them and hung 
the key upon his girdle. 

“ ’Tis a good job well done!” exclaimed the Dean, 
rubbing his hands together in glee. He put his 
ear to the new wall and listened. Not a sound 
came from the Abbot’s tomb. All was as silent 
as though the Abbot were already dead. 

“The woman ought not to escape,” muttered 
the Dean, as, having locked the front door of the 
Abbot’s house, with his companions he passed out 
into the night. 


[ 191 ] 





CHAPTER XIII. THE KEELBY WITCH 


13 



CHAPTER XIII 


THE KEELBY WITCH 

IN WHICH THE SUPERNATURAL TAKES A HAND IN 
THE GAME, AND IT BECOMES APPARENT THAT 
THERE ARE MORE THINGS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH 
THAN ARE DREAMED OF IN OUR PHILOSOPHY 

No one knew of the Abbot’s immuration except 
Dean Fletcher and Brothers Geoffrey and Bene- 
dict. Before they could surmise the awful nature 
of the sentence he had devised for the Abbot, the 
Dean had dismissed the guards, so that they were 
as ignorant of the Abbot’s fate as the rest of the 
Abbey. The two masons never dreamed at the 
time, that they had walled up a living man in a 
tomb. They supposed that the clamor beyond 
the door was a mere stage property, devised to 
test their nerve and obedience. On the morrow 
every monk in the Abbey knew that the Abbot 
had ingeniously evaded both the issue and the 
sentence by starting during the night for France. 
The Abbot had fled! 

A little while before tierce Dean Fletcher passed 
through an excited group gathered about the foun- 
tain. The monks pressed about him for the latest 
information about the Abbot’s flight. 

“It looks like acknowledgment of guilt, ” he said, 
in an even, judicial tone, as though he were reluc- 

[195] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tant to touch upon so painful a subject. “ ’Tis 
verily too bad. Abbot Thomas was a good man. 
I doubt that we shall ever see him again. Let us 
think leniently of his failings. At tierce will I 
speak more fully.” 

The day after the immuration Heloise missed the 
Abbot, but thought little of it. Matters incident 
to his resignation doubtless absorbed his attention 
and detained him within the walls. Their reading 
of a Wyclif pamphlet could wait until tomorrow. 
When tomorrow’s sun had set and the Abbot came 
not, Heloise experienced some little uneasiness, 
though she could not have analyzed or explained 
her feeling. When several days brought no word 
from her tutor, Heloise began to be alarmed. 
Surely the Abbot might have sent her word why 
he was detained! But she understood enough of 
affairs within the Abbey to feel that the Abbot’s 
absence might be a serious matter, and that it 
would bear investigation. 

Apparently, however, there was no cause for 
alarm. The tide of Abbey life flowed back and 
forth past the Manor House exactly as she had 
seen it ebb and flow since childhood. A-field she 
met the monks as aforetime, and naught about 
them was unusual, unless it were that, to her new 
suspicion, they seemed a little more reluctant to 
enter into conversation, and held themselves some- 
what more aloof from the world. The canonical 
hours pealed from the tower as of yore. Several 
times she spoke with Dean Fletcher, but she could 
[196] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


not bring herself to seek information of him, though 
he was very affable, and she did not doubt in the 
least that he would give her what information she 
needed, could she bring herself to question him. 
It seemed at times, as though St. John avoided her. 
It was several days before she could meet him. 
When at length the opportunity came to ques- 
tion St. John, his answers seemed evasive. She 
gathered from him that the Dean ruled the Abbey, 
and that discipline was more strict than hereto- 
fore. The Brethren were forbidden henceforth to 
talk with the outside world. St. John could not 
guess why the Abbot had left the Abbey. It was 
very strange that he had left no word with him. 
When he heard from the Abbot he would communi- 
cate with her. 

One day Heloise mentioned the subject of the 
Abbot’s absence to her father. Sir William thought 
lightly of the matter. But, happening to meet the 
Dean the next day, he broached the subject. Dean 
Fletcher was frankness itself ! He explained the sit- 
uation at the Abbey very fully. Sir William was 
astounded. At dinner next day he reported the 
information Dean Fletcher had imparted. It 
seemed that Abbot Thomas had recently surprised 
the Brotherhood with his resignation. He was 
weary of the stress of office, he had said. It ap- 
peared that he had queer notions about joining 
Wyclif s harebrained campaign for the poor. As in 
duty bound, the Brotherhood had met to consider 
the situation, and had been obliged, though with 

1 197 1 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


great reluctance, to accept the Abbot’s resigna- 
tion. 

That document, however, the Dean was careful 
to explain, had provided that it was not to go into 
effect until the first day of July, and the Brotherhood 
had felt certain that they would enjoy the Abbot’s 
rule until that date. Imagine, therefore, their 
surprise when the very next day the Abbot had 
unaccountably disappeared, and had left behind 
him not a trace of whither he had gone, nor an indi- 
cation of when he would be back. Some said he 
had gone to France; others said to Germany. But 
the Dean did not know. The Chapter could do 
nothing until the resignation should go into effect, 
when steps would be reluctantly taken to elect a 
new Abbot. In the meanwhile the Brotherhood 
was sorely perplexed. The Dean was afraid they 
might be obliged to invoke the aid of the civil arm 
to discover the whereabouts of their Abbot. It 
really bordered on mystery, and Dean Fletcher was 
greatly concerned, but, in good cheer, he hoped for 
the best. 

Within herself Heloise fought a great battle these 
days. The Dean’s explanation left her more sus- 
picious tha f n ever. But what could she do? To 
whom could she go for help or counsel? None of 
the ordinary sources of help were open to her, 
because in order to use them, she would be obliged 
to acknowledge and to discuss, in some degree, her 
unique relationship with the Abbot. From this 
her maidenly instincts shrank. 

[ 198 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


There was, however, one quarter whence she 
could obtain help, were she brave enough to make 
the venture. Could she bring herself to make the 
appeal, ghostly counsel certainly would not fail. 
The air teemed with sprites who made or marred 
human fortune. Priests daily dealt with the can- 
onical section of this ghostly realm. Beyond the 
supernatural power utilized by the priest, lay a dim 
extra-canonical realm, open and ready for whom- 
ever dare appropriate its strange illicit power. 
The world of Black Art would reveal the fate or 
fortune of her tutor. True, its magic was under 
ban! But nevertheless it did thrive! Was it not, 
indeed, under ban because it was a potent, and, 
indeed, a successful rival to the Church? Still 
she might stain her soul in the unlawful appeal? 
Nothing ventured, however, nothing gained! For 
the sake of the sacred friendship she bore to the 
man who had so mysteriously disappeared, she 
would trip adown the inviting, dangerous forbidden 
path. She would visit the Keelby witch. Forth- 
with she called sturdy Martin Reeve, and bade him 
prepare for the journey. 

Early on the morrow Heloise set out toward 
Keelby, not without strange misgivings. Honest 
Martin Reeve rode close behind, his bow strung 
and hanging aslant his broad back, his quiver 
bristling with yard-long shafts. But, truly, she 
hardly needed an escort this June day. The forest 
was very quiet. The villeinage toiled in the fields, 
and the kindly daylight had driven the wild life 
[ 199 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


of the woods to cover. She would have been safe 
riding the forest alone through this idyllic summer- 
time. 

Not until they approached Roxton wood did 
Heloise acquaint Martin with their destination. 
The old man grunted a burlesque protest, and a 
droll quizzical what-next expression played among 
the wrinkles and scars of his face, till Heloise could 
not restrain a smile. He crossed himself super- 
stitiously, mumbled a doubtful paternoster or two, 
and declared he would follow a Wellham anywhere, 
witch or no witch, devil or no devil, live or die. 
Nor did he doubt that they would get through 
scatheless, though the witch were a foulsome 
wench, and the mouth of the Pit were not far 
away! 

When they rode into the glen they espied the 
witch approaching her cot from the forest. On her 
arm she carried a basket of herbs, and Heloise 
inferred that she had been a-field replenishing her 
stock of simples. Truth to tell, the inference was 
somewhat aside from the truth. The witch was 
returning from escorting her latest client upon his 
way. Early that morning she had admitted to her 
cot a tall monk who wore the Austin habit. The 
cauldron in the cot had bubbled, and the witch had 
uttered weird incantations. About the priest she 
had woven a grewsome web of mystery, out of which 
she had extracted uncouth cabalistic wisdom. 
When the monk had left earlier in the day, strange 
to say, the witch had accompanied him into the 
[ 200 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


forest. There had been none to see the witch’s 
uncanonical entertainment of the monk, therefore 
there had been none to condemn. 

“Welcome to Roxton,” exclaimed the witch in a 
voice of peculiar penetrating power, eying her 
visitors narrowly under cover of a mask of careless- 
ness. “How left you Thornton, — Village, Abbey, 
and Manor House? Walk in, Mistress Heloise! 
Nay, you need not fear! Your doughty chap may 
stay by the horses. They will be likelier to be 
there when you want them!” she added with a 
chuckle, as she pulled the latch-string and threw 
wide open the door of her hovel. 

The woman’s display of knowledge awed Heloise, 
as, indeed, it was intended. Glancing into her face 
Heloise surmised that the witch must be younger 
than she chose to appear. Her queer conventional 
witch’s trappings failed to make her seem really 
old, wrinkled, weatherbeaten, disreputable. It was 
a pair of sharp, black, intelligent eyes that peeped 
out mischievously from under her black conical 
hat, as she moved toward the house. To avoid a 
boggy place in the road she lifted her skirts in a 
dainty manner, suggesting social graces seldom 
associated with witches. 

Heloise followed the witch into the hovel, — a 
squat structure with low stucco walls, — its roof 
heavy with accumulated thatch, and green with 
voluntary vegetation. A couple of small dormer 
lattices shed a modicum of light over the interior. 
Above the lintel had been rudely painted a penta- 
[201 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


gram in red, and the crude artist had arranged 
about the cabalistic figure five mystic signs of the 
zodiac. 

The interior of the hovel was invested in gloom. 
Not until Heloise had been indoors awhile could 
she distinguish her surroundings. Then she drew 
back in horror, and would have fled to the open, but 
for the fact that the door was shut. Close by the 
door lay a full grown wolf, alert, watchful, showing 
his savage fangs, and bristling as though about to 
attack. 

“ Down, Satan, down sir ! ” the witch commanded, 
her voice authority itself. The beast dropped his 
sharp nose between his paws, and apparently fell 
asleep. Only then did Heloise glance about the 
room. A huge white owl perched on the tall back 
of a chair by the dingy hearth, blinked ponderous 
wisdom. In the ingle nook hung a withered heart 
that once had beaten in a human breast. Cold 
chills ran down Heloise’s spine when she noted that 
the heart was stuck full of stout clumsy pins, as 
though it were the witch’s pincushion. Over the 
fireplace was stretched the dark leathery body of a 
bat, pinned tightly to the wall. Heloise shuddered, 
the place was so suggestive, so uncanny. She 
drew back close to the wall. The putting of her 
hand to the wall for support loosed a festoon of 
snake skins which swung full into her face, whereat 
she uttered an involuntary little scream. 

“Afraid!” queried the witch, lightly. 

“N — o,” answered Heloise, dubiously. Then 
[ 202 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


she plucked up courage, and, standing erect, an- 
swered emphatically, '‘No,” with a little laugh. 
Seizing the swinging skins, she jerked them from 
the rafter to the floor at her feet. 

“A brave woman!” exclaimed the witch. “A 
Wellham, from crown to toe! By son ties! You 
would make a fine witch!” 

The witch picked up the skins and laid them on 
a table by the wall. She motioned Heloise to a 
chair, and seated herself on a stool before her. 

“You want to tell me of your love, and you seek 
advice,” said the witch. “I know! O! I know! 
Well, Missy, have no fear. The old can always 
help the young! None so well as I! None so well 
as I,” and she chuckled to herself, swaying to and 
fro upon the stool. 

“Yea, Mother, I do need help, and have broken 
rule to come to you. What say the Fates?” 
queried Heloise. 

“Let me see your hand. Ah!” The witch’s 
eyes gleamed at the glint of the gold with which 
Heloise crossed her palm. Then she took the hand, 
and pressed over its surface firmly with the tips 
of her fingers, examining it closely and in detail. 

“A good hand and a true, my sweet lady,” she 
exclaimed. Then she fell to reading the lines, in 
broken, abrupt sentences. 

“Mount Jupiter — ambition: pride! Beware! 
Apollo, — furrows: art, crossed with difficulty and 
danger. You will have trouble: plenty of trouble! 
Mercury, — ah! lady! You should have taken to 
[203] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


herbs! Hypocrates’ greatest is yours, dear lady, 
merely for the asking. Venus, — now, that is 
strange! A fine, firm mount; but strangely 
crossed! You have a great love, and a marvelous 
trouble, my dear. Why! stranger still! Never 
saw I such a hand! Here is Mars, potent and 
aggressive, aye, and victorious too! Why, then, 
you will win through. Good cheer, good cheer, 
fair lady!” 

“ Here are the lines,” she continued after a pause, 
puckering her brows and scrutinizing the palm. 
“The heart line, deep and strong. That is con- 
stancy. Good! But the line is, O! so crossed! 
An unusual love brings unusual trouble, my dear! 
Trouble! Trouble! Verily you need witch’s help! 
I’ll help, never fear! Line of life — deep, and firm, 
and long, but crossed towards the center. Long 
life, many sorrows this side midway, but a glorious 
setting of the sun! Line of fate! Well; Well! 
The fates be strong against you, also wonderfully 
strong for you! Obstacles ominous lie athwart 
your path, but you are destined to overcome them 
all. Courage, dear lady. Courage, I say, cour- 
age!” 

Heloise was strangely impressed. The witch’s 
voice, so calm, so penetrating, so instinct with 
both command and persuasion, felt familiar as a 
memory to her, and she yielded to its spiritual 
power. Her heart beat fast, and she caught quick 
breath. These cabalistic sentences spoke out part 
of her private experience. The witch’s fascinat- 
[204] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


in g glittering eye, the strange manner of her 
speech, the uncanny decorations of the dimly 
lighted room, all combined to impress her with an 
overbearing sense of the supernatural. She felt 
herself upon the verge of the spirit world. What 
might there not be just beyond to hear and 
see! Curiosity, combined with her hope to hear 
something of the lost Abbot, led her on still further 
into the deepening mystery. 

“Tell me of the future, Mother. Of mine, — 
and, of his,” she added, and caught a quick breath. 
Then she withdrew her hand, and sprang from the 
chair on which she had been sitting. For from 
beneath the witch’s stool a large viper glided. The 
loathsome reptile raised itself from the floor to the 
witch’s lap, and glided to a hiding-place in the folds 
of her gown. The witch laughed outright at Hel- 
oise’s perturbation, nor did she reassure her client 
when she drew from her pocket an ugly toad, and 
fondled it upon her knee. 

“Have no fear, Missy. My serpent proffereth 
you wisdom and great subtlety, and you may yet 
need the toad’s jewel! The fates are for you, my 
lady. And you would spy the future, say you? 
Well, follow me.” 

The toad she put into her pocket, and she hung the 
snake about her neck, as she walked to the further 
end of the cabin. She passed through the folds of a 
curtain, holding them apart for Heloise. When 
i the curtain dropped behind her Heloise could 
feel the darkness. Presently, however, a pale, 

[205] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


unearthly, blue light flickered dim and low in a 
brazier, which was supported in the top of a small 
iron tripod. The witch threw a handful of powder 
on the flame and it leapt up, still unearthly blue, 
suggesting to Heloise a light from the nether regions. 
The room filled with a heavy soporific odor. 

The flickering light in the brazier served to dimly 
reveal the room. On either hand the room seemed 
to be a narrow corridor, down which hundreds of 
tiny lights flickered dimly in braziers lost in the 
distance. 

Immediately in front of Heloise a human head 
grinned from a shelf in the corner, its skin drawn 
tight over its face, dry and tawny like the skin of a 
mummy. Over the skinny head hung by the wrist 
a horrid human hand, its fingers drawn and knotty, 
and spread apart, like an eagle’s claws. Heloise 
had just time to note these hideous details when 
the light in the brazier died away, and darkness 
once more settled upon the apartment. Then 
Heloise felt the witch’s hand soft and stealthy 
upon her arm. She shuddered through and 
through, thinking of the hand that hung above 
the horrid head, wondering where the slimy snake 
might be. 

“Have a look into the magic mirror, my dear,” 
croned the witch in a low sleepy tone, close by her 
side. Presently Heloise became conscious that a 
shiny and disc-like something floated dimly, uncer- 
tainly, before her eyes. She put forth her hand to 
steady whatever it might be. The witch seized 
[ 206 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


her wrist, and held it tight. Under her breath she 
hissed in Heloise’s ear. 

“Touch not, Gentile, or you break the spell!” 
A moment later the witch had calmed. In a sleepy, 
croony tone she spake. “ Look you, Missy ! Look 
you ! Look you well ! ” 

A strange mirror had shaped itself in the darkness. 
Its bright surface trembled mid air, before Heloise’s 
eyes, supported on nothing. Strangely stirred, 
expecting she knew not what, and half dreading 
what she might see, Heloise searched the magic 
mirror. She was excited. Her vision was confused. 
In the far-away dreamy tone of a clairvoyant the 
witch chanted low in Heloise’s ear: 

“Dim dawns a house — a religious house — walled, 
moated. Brethren walk cloisters! They are 
greatly disturbed! They gather to discuss. — A 
monk is absent; lost; cannot be found. — Someone 
swears Brethren secret, by a great oath. — The 
Abbot, the Abbot! But strange! I cannot see. — 
Venus clouds with mystery the mount of Mars!” 

The witch made a gesture of impatience, then 
turned again intently to the mirror Heloise 
trembled from head to foot. To be so near and yet 
to fail! To have the vision dim just as it was 
coming clearly into sight! Far worse was that than 
to have received no hint at all. She turned eagerly 
to the witch, crying out, “O, cannot you read more, 
Mother? Look again! Look hard! What is it 
that comes so dimly now? Read for me quick! 
Read! O, please, read!” 

[207] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The witch swayed over the mirror, and in meas- 
ured cadences she chanted, “Monks stringing bows, 
feathering shafts! — The mad rush of war! — Men 
lie slain! — The house is besieged! — They storm! 
They storm! — They are hurled back! — Again they 
come! — Again! — Eagles and wolves! — Wolves and 
eagles! — The awful stench of the slain! — The stalk- 
ing pestilence of death!” 

The witch seemed to be possessed by her vision. 
Her voice rose and fell with the strange events she 
pictured, and her hands moved in wild distorted 
gestures. 

Heloise was almost beside herself. “The Abbot, 
the Abbot, Mother! O, tell me of him. Is he 
dead?” she cried sinking from the stool to her knees 
on the floor, as though to pray the witch for the 
vision that would not fully come. 

The witch turned toward her, strange question- 
ing and perplexity in her voice, as though she did 
not quite understand. “The Abbot? The Abbot? 
Abbot?” she drawled sleepily. “He loves only the 
People’s Cause. But, — the — Dean — the Dean hath 
him on the hip! Beware!” 

Heloise swooned at the foot of the tripod. When 
she regained consciousness she was reclining in the 
witch’s warm arms on a bench in the open before 
the cottage. Martin Reeve was standing by, puz- 
zled as much by the witch’s mysterious crooning 
over his mistress as by his mistress’s strange sick- 
ness, knowing not what to do, nor how to take this 
queer turn of affairs. The witch bid him speed to 
[208] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the stream with a bucket for water. When he 
returned his mistress was herself again, and the 
witch was urging refreshments upon her, which she 
deftly declined. She and Martin would ride down 
to the Keelby inn for dinner, then through the 
woods homeward in the afternoon. 

While Martin was getting the horses, Heloise 
questioned the witch. “ Can you tell me where the 
lost Abbot may be found? I think the mirror was 
about to tell, when I swooned like a silly sickly girl. 
I came to learn the Abbot’s fate. Tell me what you 
know, Mother mine.” 

The witch’s eyes twinkled, then she made answer, 
“Mark me well what I say, and follow the oracle’s 
advice : 

When you’re building fortune up against fate, 
Consult an architect ere it be too late.” 

Martin came with the horses. He helped Heloise 
to the saddle, and they rode toward Keelby. 
They had walked their horses briskly quarter of a 
mile or so when the witch, whom they had just left 
at her door, met them in the way ! She made way 
for them, and courtesied to Heloise as they passed, 
throwing Martin a grimace that caused that worthy 
to shrug his shoulders. Then, with a ring in her 
voice that echoed through the forest, she turned 
and shouted after them, “ Don’t forget the architect, 
my dear. The other man will bear watching!” 

The tone and quality of the witch’s voice, puck- 
ered Heloise’s brow. It seemed so familiar. “Ha!” 

[209] 


14 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


she exclaimed, turning to Martin. “That’s the 
voice that stirred the monks the day of the dedica- 
tion!” 

Old Martin scratched his head, his face lighted, 
and he grinned from ear to ear as he said, “By 
Saint Julian, verily it seems to be so!” 


[ 210 ] 


CHAPTER IV. HELOISE 


CHAPTER XIV 


HELOISE 

WHICH CLEARLY SETS FORTH THE GREAT DIFFICULTY 
OF MAKING UP ONE’S MIND, ESPECIALLY WHEN 
THE ADVICE TO BE FOLLOWED IS THAT OF A 
FOULSOME WITCH UNDER BAN 

Shortly after her visit to the Keelby witch, 
Heloise loitered in the garden at the Manor House. 
It was the charming hour of twilight, and the balmy 
odor of summer floated on the stilly air. Save for 
a few fleecy clouds that hung lazily above, the sky 
was blue and clear. The clouds hung no more 
white and fluffy overhead than they lay reflected 
in the fountain by which Heloise sat. So quiet 
was it that rabbits nibbled fearlessly from cover to 
cover at the bottom of the garden. Lengthening 
shadows, forerunners of night not far away, lay 
aslant the garden, the house, and the wood. Birds 
twittered in the bushes, and a cloud of tardy bees 
hummed about the hives. From a distance came 
the call of a fox, which promptly met its challenge 
from the dogs at the Manor House, whereupon the 
rabbits bobbed their white tails as they scampered 
to cover. Then all was still. 

“The world is keyed to fear,” Heloise mused. 
“Tooth and claw are the rule of life. But there is 
no cover for hunted folk!” 

[213] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Heloise was weary. The bitterness that accom- 
panies the sense of defeat rankled in her mind. 
Near three weeks had passed since the disappear- 
ance of the Abbot. The mystery that had suddenly 
engulfed him weighed heavily upon her mind. But 
she was still totally in the dark as to what had in real- 
ity happened. Her visit to the Keelby witch did 
but further perplex her. Singularly enough, though 
she did not note the fact at the time, she did not 
now look upon the Abbot as her lover, though her 
feeling for him was the same as when she first 
awoke to the thrill of it. It was the man — the 
teacher — the great, good, strong soul in trouble, 
that absorbed her attention these days. He was 
fighting a great battle, she felt, the nature of which 
she could not divine, but she wanted to be his 
effective ally. 

Heloise had no knowledge upon which to act. 
However, the intuitions of the woman were alert. 
Straight as a bloodhound on the trail she took 
up the scent, and halted not till, full cry, she men- 
tally brought up at Dean Fletcher’s door. She 
could not tell why she held the Dean responsible 
for the Abbot’s disappearance, nor how it came 
about that she felt that serious guilt attached to his 
part in the mystery. But she kept her eye on the 
Dean’s lank, bent figure, and thin face, feeling that, 
somehow, there lay the solution to the mystery. 
She was quite sure that there had been crookedness 
of some sort, and she set her woman’s wit to work 
to find out exactly what had happened. Happily 
[214] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the thought that her tutor was actually dead, did 
not cross her mind. She imagined that a few day’s 
investigation would discover to his friends his 
whereabouts and would restore him to his duties. 
Perhaps he would shortly get a message to her from 
France, whither the monks explained he had gone. 

The garden gate clicked. Presently the Dwarf 
who was evidently looking for somebody, came 
down the walk. When he saw Heloise he doffed 
his cap and immediately advanced toward her. 

“I was looking for you, Mistress Heloise,” he 
said in his droll drawl, bowing low as he spoke. 

“I, too, wished for you, Henry,” she said, smiling 
at the whimsical creature, who, seating himself 
on the lip of the basin, had pretended to lose his 
balance backward, saving himself by a grotesque 
effort. Then she added: “You’ll drown yet!” 

The Dwarf retorted, “I’m whale!” 

“Have you Abbey news?” asked Heloise. 

“Aye! Surely I have! Dean Fletcher has the 
stolen will ! I was not mistaken when I told you so 
before. The Dean has the will ! Last night I over- 
heard him again in conference with oily Brother 
Geoffrey.” Heloise could but smile at the scorn 
the queer fellow put into his voice. “The Dean 
said that as soon as he was Abbot he would launch 
the will upon the courts. Then would the Manor 
lands belong to the Abbey, and you would be turned 
out. He mentioned you by name, Mistress Heloise. 
He’s in a towering rage at you.” 

Heloise shuddered, and fell into meditation. 

[215] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


More to herself than to the Dwarf she said, “It 
matters little about land. Land’s cold, dead stuff. 
Only men count. Scrivener says his plan will check- 
mate the Dean in court. Possession, too, is nine- 
tenths of the law ! Scrivener opines that the 
lawyers’ tournament about the land will not be yet 
awhile. More important matters press immedi- 
ately. Rent is a toll which the ‘Haves’ impose 
upon the ‘Have nots.’ I suppose we could live and 
pay rent! — Many do! Meanwhile,” — and she ad- 
dressed the Dwarf directly, — “Have you news of 
Abbot Thomas?” 

The Dwarf shook his head. “No news of the 
Abbot’s to be had,” he answered, with the air of 
one whose every search had ended against a blind 
wall. Then he continued, “The Dean’s Abbot- 
Elect, say the monks. I know not what date was 
his election! He’s to be installed by and by! St. 
John says he rules well. He’s bringing the house 
back to the rubric! That’s something good to eat, 
I think! Brother Geoffrey says the monks have 
never been held so strictly to the rule! Brother 
Paul told me that the Bishop favors Dean Fletcher 
for Abbot. 0, there’ll be big doings in the Abbey 
pretty soon! — like when they dedicated the church, 
and the Voice ripped the monks up the back till 
you could see beyond their shirts!” 

Heloise smiled, and asked, quietly, “What says 
the Abbey of Abbot Thomas? Hear you aught of 
that?” 

“Aye! That he was a bad man under his hide! 
[216] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


They say he deserted them most disgracefully! 
The shepherd left his sheep to the wolves in the 
wilderness! He cares for Wyclif more than for the 
Church! He is one of Wyclif s Poor Preachers 
now! Brother Geoffrey saw him preaching in the 
Lincoln Bull Ring after the baiting last week. I’d 
rather see the baiting any time than hear even my- 
self preach! Dean Fletcher told me that if the 
villeins rise, Abbot Thomas will likely be at their 
head, he’s so foolish about the poor! O, I tell you, 
the Dean is sorely vexed because the Abbot de- 
serted! If Abbot Thomas ever shows his head 
again, it will go hard with him at the Abbey. 
Ha! Ha!” 

The Dwarf was convulsed with a fit of laughter. 
His levity vexed Heloise, and she spoke his name 
sharply. He sobered at once, a comical, rueful 
look coming over his face. Plunging his hand into 
his bosom he produced a scrap of parchment. 
“ Pardon, lady, ” he said, “ I had well nigh forgotten. 
The Keelby witch made me her post. Here’s her 
billet. The foulsome beldame made me bring it!” 

Heloise took the scrip and read the following, 
written in a scholar’s neat hand, 

“When you’re building fortune up against fate, 
Consult an architect ere it be too late.” 

Heloise was surprised. The effect was so vivid 
that the parchment seemed to be the witch herself. 
Heloise could hear the witch’s voice, so vivid was 
the impression. Instinctively she put up her hand 
[217] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


to fend off the supernatural. She had not taken 
the witch’s oracle very seriously that morning at 
Keelby, but now it seemed to be both an open door 
and a finger pointing the way. “You may go,” 
she said to the Dwarf. “ Keep watch on the Abbey, 
and bring me word.” 

The Dwarf had not reached the gate when Heloise 
called him back, saying, “If you see Guilbert de 
Rouen at the house this eve, tell him privately that 
Mistress Heloise walks in the garden.” 

The Dwarf departed, a knowing smile playing 
about his solemn face. Heloise mused, for the 
witch’s oracle planted Guilbert de Rouen squarely 
in her mind. Why should she not appeal to him? 
Their friendship was unquestionable. Since she 
had said, “No,” to him when he came on his quest 
a year ago, he had been a constant visitor at the 
Manor House, and Heloise had led the household 
in making him welcome. Her interest in Guilbert 
was both intellectual and social. His intellect quick- 
ened her mind, and her social nature expanded 
under the warmth of his presence. 

Just now Heloise dwelt appreciatively on Guil- 
bert’s career. Born in a French nobleman’s family, 
revenues from some of his ancestral estates already 
fat in his purse, he scorned to live the life of a mere 
nobleman. Certain queer notions of his about 
holding his fiefs for the betterment of the poor, 
greatly appealed to Heloise. * She knew that the 
call of the wider world had deflected Guilbert from 
the church. Otherwise he might now have been a 
[218] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tonsured monk. For some reason Heloise was glad 
he was not a monk! A growing life had pushed 
aside his tonsured teachers. Books and travel, 
contact with the great world and companionship 
with men of affairs, had changed his course of life. 
Nature had endowed Guilbert with a constructive 
mind. The promising youth followed art, became 
an architect, and finally a cathedral builder. From 
Rouen he had taken groups of artists with him, and 
all over Europe many a dream in stone witnessed 
to his unconventional genius. 

But in this crisis could Heloise appeal to Guilbert 
de Rouen? The matter was perplexing. Truth to 
tell, Guilbert’s illuminated text occupied a place of 
honor towards the top among the Boudoir divinities 
where Heloise dreamed and slept. Its art easily 
won for it that high place. But quite often Heloise 
scanned the text, which was but a poor, halting poem 
at best! In a certain way, though Heloise was un- 
conscious of the fact, Guilbert had come to wield an 
influence in her life almost as vital as that enjoyed 
by the Abbot. Her soul was large enough to be hun- 
gry for both influences to round out her life, and too 
large to be fretted by the incongruity involved, had 
she been conscious of it. The Abbot fired one 
hemisphere of her being, Guilbert illuminated the 
other. 

As she mused by the fountain, Heloise warmed 
toward Guilbert de Rouen under the memory of 
the happy times they had spent together. On the 
portico, or in the garden during summer; or, in 
[219] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


winter time, ensconced in the deep recess of a lat- 
tice indoors, they had been most pleasantly asso- 
ciated. The architect’s stories of his travels had 
unfolded Europe till it lay in her mind like a map — 
its teeming cities, its men of court, castle, and 
church, its heroes of sword and of pen. It was good 
to see the Alps through Guilbert’s eyes, a rich 
experience to walk the vineyards of Italy and see 
imperial Rome with him for guide. Perhaps this 
very intimacy made it more difficult for Heloise 
to obey the oracle. 

A subtle indefinable change had gradually come 
over Heloise’s feeling towards the Abbot. She 
loved him not less, these days, but more, though 
slightly differently, than when in the oak room 
love first awoke so suddenly. Experience had 
brought discrimination into her sentiment. She 
had discovered that, even among its higher ideals, 
life is a patchwork. A subtle dislike for the Abbot’s 
frock often stole into her mind. Though he had 
worn the gown when he had won her love, in her 
eyes he did not look well in it these days! Yet she 
would not have unfrocked him for worlds! But, 
if he had not been a monk! Long before the Abbot 
had sighed for the larger world Heloise had felt 
the cramp of the Abbey walls upon his soul. Yet 
she was loath to have him cross the moat for the 
freedom of the outside world. Conflicting ideals 
fought for mastery in her mind. The great, holy 
sanctions of the church were incarnated in the 
Abbot, and they drew her utmost love out to him 
[ 220 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


magnificently. But still her love for Abbot 
Thomas left her dissatisfied. Plato was cold, dis- 
tant, and vaguely seemed lacking some essential 
quality of life. 

Could Heloise appeal to Guilbert de Rouen in 
behalf of the Abbot? — that was the question that 
absorbed her by the fountain. Her attitude toward 
Guilbert had not consciously changed. Why not 
fulfil the Keelby oracle ! Guilbert and she were still 
close friends. She knew him through and through, 
she trusted him, and he was certainly deeply inter- 
ested in her welfare. Moreover, she had great con- 
fidence in his world-wise judgment. With a painful 
little twinge she remembered his plea, that he might 
continue in her service, even though he could not 
win her love. In the garden she had given her 
assent. Why not live up to her promise? Guilbert 
was on terms of intimacy within the Abbey, and, 
doubtless, had access to information no one else, 
outside the Brotherhood, could reach. If legal 
processes should be needed, Guilbert would know 
how to set the wheels of the law in motion. But, 
naturally, Heloise shrank from appealing to a 
rejected lover in behalf of a man who in a real, 
though not an absolute sense, was his successful 
rival. 

A whole hour Heloise fought this strange battle, 
endeavoring to hold the scales even between these 
two men and herself. Then the sense of justice, 
and of pity for a man in distress, a man, moreover, 
whom she loved, overcame the barriers her maidenly 
[221 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


instinct reared against such an appeal. She would 
ask Guilbert’s advice in the matter, perhaps this 
very evening. 

The garden gate creaked on its hinges, and 
Heloise heard a footfall on the walk. 


[ 222 ] 


CHAPTER XY. GUILBERT DE ROUEN 
















✓ 


t 












CHAPTER XV 


GUILBERT DE ROUEN 

WHICH DEMONSTRATES THE WISDOM OF THAT AN- 
CIENT WRIT WHICH DECLARES THAT, “HE THAT IS 
SLOW TO ANGER IS BETTER THAN THE MIGHTY, 
AND HE THAT RULETH HIS SPIRIT THAN HE THAT 
TAKETH A CITY” 

After supper at the Saracen’s Head that even- 
ing Guilbert de Rouen walked briskly toward the 
Manor House. Crossing the drawbridge at the 
Manor House, he spoke a cheery, “Good even,” to 
Jack Shepherd at the winch in the tower, and that 
worthy returned the compliment with an interest 
that betokened mutual good understanding. 

The courtyard was alive with men-at-arms drill- 
ing, and with servitors in the happy abandon of 
outdoor games. From the paddock floated the 
strains of a viol, and about the player stalwart 
men and buxom women romped the figures of an 
English dance, till the air rang with merriment. 
With a friendly nod here and there, and with a 
hearty personal greeting for Martin Reeve, Guil- 
bert crossed the open yard to the porch, where 
Lady Wellham received him with the heartiness 
reserved for personal or family friends. 

“Welcome, Guilbert de Rouen,” she exclaimed. 
“We bargain for the entire evening. Shortly 
[225] 


15 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Heloise will be here, and you must tell us how you 
met Geoffrey Chaucer at Court. No running off 
tonight, remember!” 

Guilbert laughed his appreciation of the greeting. 
As he ascended the steps to the porch the Dwarf 
whispered Heloise’s message into his ear, where- 
upon Lady Wellham smiled, rightly guessing that 
his company that evening would not be for her. 
Guilbert took the seat she proffered, but the Dwarf’s 
message was in his ear and the Chaucer story 
refused to come. Moreover, all other topics of 
conversation limped, or failed to come at all. 
Guilbert fidgeted ten minutes, his eyes playing 
truant toward the garden. At length he arose, 
begging to be excused. 

“ Chaucer another time ! ” he exclaimed gaily, kiss- 
ing his hand to Lady Wellham as he descended. 
He crossed to the courtyard, and passed on through 
the wicket into the garden. Beyond the gate, the 
shimmer of silk caught his eye and quickened his 
step. Down the path, beyond the fountain, he 
came upon Heloise, now busy among her flowers. 

During the year love had been a sealed book 
between Guilbert and Heloise. Guilbert had kept 
his double pledge. He had loved, and he had 
loved secretly and in silence. His footing at the 
Manor House had seemed precisely what it had 
been before his rejection. He and Heloise had been 
so much together that their friends had misjudged 
them to be lovers, anticipating wedding bells. 
Happily, the foul gossip about the Abbot and 
[226] 


The green devil 


Heloise was largely confined within the walls of the 
Abbey. To the outside world the Abbot’s tutor- 
ship sufficiently explained all that was public of his 
relations with Heloise; and the public mind awarded 
to Guilbert the prize which he had really lost. 

Guilbert’s busy life, together with his robust 
constitution, had kept him in a healthy frame of 
mind. He had not lost courage. He held to the 
Abbot’s integrity and set himself resolutely to 
disbelieve the Abbey gossip, staking his faith on the 
high honor of Heloise. This was sometimes hard 
to do, but, appearances notwithstanding, through 
evil and through good report, Guilbert counted the 
Abbot good, and Heloise pure. Sometimes an 
extra warmth in Heloise’s voice and manner, in the 
garden or in the house, revived hope in him. But 
his love was timid enough, and wise enough, not 
to venture upon what might merely be its own par- 
tial interpretation of common and insignificant 
actions. His love was of the sort that runs deep, 
waits well, and strengthens itself in silence. Thus 
time was his best friend and he waited. Guilbert’s 
siege of Heloise’s heart was so unostentatious that 
Heloise sometimes fancied, not without a little 
involuntary sigh, that he had given up his quest. 

“Are flowers your slaves, or are you your flowers’ 
slave, Mistress Heloise!” queried Guilbert, laughing 
and extending his hand. 

“A most original conundrum, and quite unan- 
swerable!” said Heloise, picking half a dozen 
bachelor’s buttons, and giving them to Guilbert. 

[227] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“I concur with your judgment! Greatly do I 
need them!” said Guilbert, and his teasing laugh 
flushed Heloise’s cheek. He added, casually: “Ah! 
You grow heartsease? ’Tis a pretty flower. An 
it fulfilled its name it would be worth a thousand 
times its weight in gold. Pray pluck me a 
bloom!” 

“Like you my sweet-williams?” she asked, 
perhaps to turn the banter on to less dangerous 
ground. 

“Aye!” said he, “and the fragrance of your 
briars guided me into your presence just now.” 

Heloise plucked a bouquet, and Guilbert carried 
it as they walked together to the fountain. They 
seated themselves on the bench. Heloise fell 
into a pensive mood, and the trouble Guilbert 
vaguely felt made him grave. Had she not sent 
for him to come into the garden? What could be 
on her mind? 

Feeling his way toward what he imagined might 
be a cause of trouble, Guilbert asked: “Have you 
no news yet of the stolen will?” 

Heloise shook her head, wearily. “The Dwarf 
avers that it is in the Abbey,” she said, dissent and 
incredulity in her tones. 

“So he tells me,” answered Guilbert. “ ’Tis 
passing strange. If the Dean has that arrow, ’tis 
a wonder he does not shoot it. I doubt that he 
has it in his quiver!” 

Silence fell again. At length Heloise spoke. 
“Green Devil’s theft troubles me but little now. 

[228 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Or, that trouble is smothered by a bigger. These 
days I’m worried about Abbot Thomas. What 
has become of the Abbot, Guilbert? I fear matters 
are awry within the Abbey. You are well ac- 
quainted among the monks. Where suppose you 
Abbot Thomas has gone?” 

“I know not,” answered Guilbert, and there fell 
an awkward silence between them. Her warm, 
open interest in the Abbot chilled Guilbert. Some 
curious psychological influence at work in Heloise 
fixed a temporary gulf between her and the man 
whose aid she sought. Guilbert recovered himself 
first, and continued : 

“The Brotherhood thinks the Abbot has deserted 
to Wyclif’s camp. I happen to know that he 
leaned that way, and it may well be that he has 
joined Wyclif in London town.” 

“But, Guilbert, I cannot tell why, but I find 
myself mistrusting the canons. The Abbot is my 
tutor, as you know. We have browsed together 
the field of books, and discussed all sorts of schemes 
for helping England’s poor. Well do I know his 
leaning towards Wyclif — I lean far that way my- 
self, and long to help. Also do I know that the 
monks fear and hate Wyclif. It comes to me that 
they would do aught in their power to prevent so 
powerful an ally from reaching Wyclif’s camp. 
And, Guilbert, I must say that my suspicion rests 
full upon Dean Fletcher. He comes in on the tide 
that sweeps Abbot Thomas out. ’Tis not for 
naught that he licks his chops like a wolf. I fear 
[229] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he has trained foul play upon Abbot Thomas, in 
order that he may inherit his place and power.” 

“Well! well! I had not thought of that. Upon 
what rests your suspicion, and what do you sus- 
pect?” asked Guilbert, his interest now thoroughly 
aroused. 

“Nay, that is clear beyond me. I do not know,” 
answered Heloise. “All I know is, that I fear foul 
play upon the Abbot, and appeal to you for what 
help you may be able to give.” 

Perhaps it was the open pleasure which mantled 
Guilbert’s face, and revealed to Heloise a possible 
and a misleading interpretation of her appeal to 
him. She added, hastily, “Father is in London 
with the King, so I made bold to come to you for the 
help he would have rendered, had he been at home.” 

Her tardy qualification did not hurt Guilbert 
much. He had seen her trust in his strength before 
she had drawn over it the thin veil, and his enjoy- 
ment of it touched the magic spring of hope. Under 
the spell of Heloise’s presence and appeal he for- 
got that the Abbot was his rival, and his sympathy 
went out to the man of misfortune whom Heloise 
would help. 

“I know not how I may be able to help, or that 
I can bring you any help at all. But what I can do, 
that I will. I will question the monks, and even 
Dean Fletcher himself. Disturbance is pending. 
Perhaps our local troubles may give us a glimpse of 
the vanished Abbot’s trail. I’ll keep an open eye.” 

At Guilbert’s mention of impending trouble 
[230] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Heloise’s countenance fell. A few moments of 
reflection, and she laid her hand gently on Guilbert’s 
arm, saying, “Disturbance? Troubles pending? 
Tell me then, Guilbert, are we to have a rising 
here?” 

It was Guilbert’s turn to be surprised. To the 
query in his startled eyes Heloise answered, “O, 
I know somewhat! Dispatches came to the Manor 
House this morning from Kent. The villeins there 
are rising. Blood will surely be shed. The King’s 
men are out, summoning the knights to join the 
king at London. Yesterday Sir William left for 
London, and the dispatches missed him. But, 
will the rising spread here, think you, Guilbert? 
Will it?” 

“I fear it will,” answered Guilbert, very quietly. 

“Is the Manor House in danger?” 

“No, — you need have no fear. Thanks to the 
kindliness and the justice of your house, you are 
safe. The villeins hereabouts would fight for you 
rather than against you. But they are greatly 
incensed against the Abbey. Only a miracle can 
prevent the mob from attacking Dean Fletcher’s 
newly feathered nest. They think treasure is 
hoarded there, and they need it for their campaign.” 

What Heloise had seen in the magic mirror at the 
house of the witch, surged back into her mind, — 
monks feathering arrows, attack and counter attack, 
the gathering of ravens about carcasses in the en- 
closure of a religious house, and the awful clangor 
of war. With a feeling of awe, she felt herself in 

[231 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the grip of invisible, imponderable forces which 
swept her outward, onward, beyond herself; but 
whither, or how far, she neither knew nor could 
guess. Greatly moved, she turned to Guilbert, 
and said, 

“ Rising or no rising, Abbey attacked or let alone, 
Abbot Thomas has mysteriously disappeared. I 
suspect Dean Fletcher is at the bottom of the mys- 
tery. Father will investigate when he returns. 
In the meanwhile, you will help, Guilbert?” 

“Most certainly I will. I see the Dean every 
day, and I will question him.” 

Then they spoke of the People’s Cause, of the 
bleeding heart of the common folk, of the uprising 
that was already stirring in Kent, and of its threat 
of conflagration for all the land, of the hope for 
better things in England, of the time when the 
young King should be redeemed from evil factions 
and from the fripperies of a dissolute court, and 
should henceforth give his time and heart undivid- 
edly to his people’s welfare. When they separated 
Guilbert knew that the heart of Heloise was with 
the People’s Cause, and her profound respect for 
him was heightened by the well-founded feeling that 
he was connected in some influential way with the 
rising that was about to redeem the land. 

As the fates would have it, on his way to the 
Saracen’s Head Guilbert met Dean Fletcher. The 
two men passed the time of day, and fell into con- 
versation, wandering together down a bridle trail 
into the woods. Dean Fletcher was in fine humor. 
[232 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The two sat upon a fallen tree while the Dean told 
an amusing story. At the first opening Guilbert 
turned the conversation toward what was in his 
mind. 

“By the by, Dean Fletcher,” said Guilbert, 
“what has really become of Abbot Thomas?” 

Surprise, astonishment, alarm, followed each 
other over the Dean’s face in quick succession. It 
was only for a moment, however, but in Guilbert’s 
mind it put the Dean in the wrong, and confirmed 
for him Heloise’s suspicion. Then the masterly 
mask dropped automatically into place, and a bland 
smile played over the .Dean’s face as he answered : 
“Well, Guilbert mine, I regret to say that the 
Abbot left us, minus proper ceremony, as we all do 
think. And from wherever he may now be he has 
condescended to send us not a word as yet,” — and 
the Dean’s tongue shot out to moisten his lips, 
which then closed tightly, as though nothing more 
was to be said upon the subject. 

“But, Dean Fletcher,” — and Guilbert was very 
much in earnest, — “you know the Abbot will have 
to be found. So prominent a man cannot drop out 
of sight without search being instituted. The 
authorities will make due inquisition into the 
matter. Tell me, Dean Fletcher, what you know 
about the matter, that I may help the Abbot’s 
friends to discover his whereabouts.” 

“What I know, Guilbert de Rouen, you would 
not care to hear, as by experience I can well tes- 
tify,” answered the Dean, sneering in spite of him- 

[233] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


self. Then he had the blazing indiscretion to add, 
slapping his hand upon his knee by way of emphasis : 
“By sonties, Guilbert de Rouen, I cannot under- 
stand you ! You of all men ! Y ou are blind as a bat, 
and deaf as an adder ! Of all the men in the world 
you should be the most glad to have the Abbot drop 
out of sight! The course is now clear for you not 
only to love the maid, but also to wed her! The 
Abbot, I tell you, man, was your successful rival 
at the Manor House! He and she were too much 
together!” 

How it happened Guilbert never knew, and ever 
after he regretted that it happened at all, but 
the foolish and wicked words were hardly spoken 
before Dean Fletcher was spinning somersaults 
backward in the brush. When he halted in his 
ludicrous retreat, the Dean sat holding his jaw, 
swaying back and forth in rage and in pain; and, 
with his fists clenched, Guilbert was standing over 
him. 

“Mention her name again in connection with 
your damnable gossip,” Guilbert cried, “and I’ll 
have you hanged higher than Haman, and drawn 
and quartered to boot, to teach snivelling monks 
decency of tongue. You spiteful, crafty, contempt- 
ible, devilish, human snake!” 

The sight of a stain of his own blood on his hand, 
not the sting of Guilbert’s hot words, nor 
his heavy blow, stirred Dean Fletcher beyond 
control. He picked himself up, and, his face 
purple with rage, he leaped towards Guilbert, hiss- 

[234] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


ing, “Mark my words, Guilbert de Rouen, my fine 
fellow, you’ll live to repent this cowardly attack 
on a defenseless monk.” 

Then he gathered control of himself, and, with 
a fine scornful air, turned to go. 

Guilbert called out after him, “Dean Fletcher, 
it were better you should tell what you know of the 
whereabouts of Abbot Thomas. The law is bigger 
than a monk, and, by sonties, I’ll have it at you. 
We’ll win your secret, if we tear it out of your dead 
brain!” 

The taunt stung the Dean. Quick as a flash 
his hand flew to the spot on his thigh where, had 
he been a soldier, his poniard would have hung. 
The hasty action threw his habit out of shape, so 
that Guilbert clearly saw the outline of a poniard 
under the gown, — though why a monk should 
secretly carry a poniard was by no means clear. 

However, the Dean did not draw. He turned 
about, and, flaming with rage, hurled back a parting 
shot: “When the stone walls of Thornton shout 
their secrets in the public ear, then will my lips 
tell you, Guilbert de Rouen, what more I know of 
the paramours of Abbot Thomas and the woman 
Heloise! Till then, I warn you, keep watch, for 
I’ll get you, sure as death and hell. And, after 
I have done with you, the Devil shall have you 
forever!” 

The irate monk vanished through the thicket in 
a monumental rage, brushing off his habit with his 
hands, and muttering sundry imprecations as he 
[235 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


went. Guilbert de Rouen returned to the Inn, 
greatly scoring himself because his loss of temper 
had cost him a victory it was necessary for him 
to have won. 


[236] 


CHAPTER XVI. THE HOLY PALMER 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE HOLY PALMER 

IN WHICH IT WOULD APPEAR THAT MEN, LIKE THINGS, 
SOMETIMES ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM, AND 
THAT A HOLY MAN MAY LEAD A DOUBLE LIFE 
AND NOT BE DAMNED FOR IT 

On a somnolent afternoon, a week later, when 
the land was bathed in summer sunshine, Guilbert 
de Rouen lounged on the porch at the Saracen’s 
Head. A soporific spell lay upon the scene, as 
though it were a land of poppies in a far-off world 
of dreams. The monotone of a distant voice 
droned in his ear. Guilbert was dimly conscious 
of the voice some little time before he heeded the 
fact or set his thought to determine what the voice 
might mean. By the witchery that inheres in 
natural harmony, the distant voice hid itself by 
commingling with the drowsy sounds of the sum- 
mer afternoon — the drone of bees, the twitter of 
birds, the snoring of a bull pup under the bench, the 
sharps and flats of pots and pans in the kitchen, all 
mingled with the murmur of grooms’ voices gossip- 
ing by the stable door. At length the grooms 
crossed the courtyard into the street, on investiga- 
tion bent. Their action brought the voice fully 
into Guilbert’s consciousness, and the monotone 
leaped to life and sense in his ear. 

[239] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

“ — Across the seas you come to strange lands 
and queer people. There be mighty rivers, and 
great cities with ivory bridges that span rivers 
of silver. The hills are vine-clad, and the 
vinters tie their vines with links of sausages. You 
can buy a goose there for a penny, and have the 
gosling into the bargain. I saw a mountain made 
of cheese, mitey as any German could wish, and 
good withal, both to smell and to eat. They cut 
the cheese with pick and axe, exactly as they mine 
copper in Cornwall, and serve it in the dining-hall 
on ivory wheelbarrows. Rivers flow bank-full 
with Malmsey wine; an you will, you can be drunk 
all week over Sunday. By and by, you come to the 
great mountains, if the robbers don’t snap you up 
the while, and, if you win, past haunted woods and 
castles, and by ghosts that walk both day and 
night. The mountains be so high and steep that 
the only way to climb them is to plant a Jack’s 
bean, aqd hold fast to the stalk the while it grows. 
When you are above the clouds, you gently swing 
the stalk, my men, farther and farther each time, 
till you reach a ledge of rock with your feet — 
hanging on like a leech lest the swinging throw 
you off. Then do you let go the stalk! And, 
behold, you straddle the ridge pole of the world! 
Then you slide down the other side — ugh ! — through 
frost and snow, plump into sunny Italy. Before 
you know it you are in Rome, among flocks of 
scarlet cardinals, and priests robed in purple and 
gold, and other folk of the big glittering world.” 
[240] 
























The Palmer. 





THE GREEN DEVIL 


Guilbert laughed softly at this cornucopian 
stream of racy exaggeration. He put on his 
Flanders hat, and moved out to see who might be 
the affable fellow whose speech was so veracious, 
so stimulating and so entertaining! 

By the gateway of the parish church a Holy 
Palmer held a growing crowd of country yokels by 
the ears, entertaining them with this highly col- 
ored story of his pilgrimage. Guilbert joined the 
listeners gathered about the stranger. 

“Strange cities there be in foreign lands,” the 
Palmer continued quaintly. What think you of a 
city wedded to the sea every year! Think of a 
bride and groom like that, my merry men! Such 
a procession of magnificoes in be-lanterned boats, 
formed the bridal party — all decked in gold, and 
flashing precious stones — that you fancied that 
the New Jerusalem was come down to earth again, 
and the sea of glass was turned to gold. At Siena 
they race horses in the market place once a year, 
and, believe me, my merry men, the riders whip 
each other instead of their lagging steeds, while the 
people about the course wager their last stiver on 
the foregone conclusion of the race! O, a pilgrim 
sees strange sights, and danger travels cheek 
by jowl with him all the way. But he journeys 
on, by land and sea, through weary days and 
nights, till he climbs the last hill, and there, there 
at last, before his joyful eyes, lies the Holy City — 
the City of the True Cross and of the Holy Sepul- 
chre, begirt with hills, beautiful to look upon, 

[241 ] 


16 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the shining guerdon of the pilgrim’s toil and 
devotion!” 

Enthusiasm lighted the man’s weather-beaten 
face, and tears were in his eyes, while his auditors 
stood about him open-mouthed and spellbound. 
The man was robust, his frame well knit together, 
and he looked the part he spoke. His bushy beard 
and long hair were crowned picturesquely with a 
broad black hat, the band of which was ornamented 
with scallop shells — the tell-tale records of a pil- 
grimage to the shrine of St. James of Compostella. 
A long grey cloak covered his figure, and was girded 
at the waist with a black belt. The miniature 
bottle-and-bell depending from his belt, proclaimed 
to all the world the fact that the good man had 
burnt candles at the tomb of St. Thomas a Becket 
at Canterbury. Palm leaves embroidered down 
the front of his cloak, and stuck jauntily among 
the shells on his hat, gave to the man the 
proud distinction of having fought and begged 
through to the Holy Sepulchre itself. 

While he spoke, villeins coming in from the field 
augmented the Palmer’s auditors. To meet the 
new interest he lifted a peddler’s pack on to the 
retaining wall of the churchyard, and with many a 
jocular word and mysterious sign, he laid the con- 
tents of the pack about him on the wall, his auditors 
edging in closer the while, in order that they might 
the better see. 

“Here is fine cutlery from Sheffield,” cried the 
Palmer, exhibiting each article as he spoke, “knives 
[242] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


sharp enough for Saladin’s clever headsman, and 
bargains cheap enough for cot-wife, housewife, or 
castle-wife, and good enough for princess or queen. 
Would you have broaches from Milan, jewel-set 
as you see? Leave off, fair ladies, your old wooden 
skewers. Here are fine new-fangled pins, bright 
and sharp, made to fasten your skirt or wimple. 
I sold a package each to all the fine ladies of the 
Court as I came through London town, and very 
pleased were they to get the new conveniences. 
They are expensive ware, but I will sell them 
cheap. 

“I have beaver hats from Flanders for the men, 
an they will, and silk darnick for women’s fine kir- 
tles. Is it wimples you would have? Here they 
are white and soft, fine wool, or of rich silk if you 
wish, soft and good enough for Christ’s own mother 
— and you may have them as cheap as you will. 
This Flemish weave from Manchester, — note it 
well.” His voice grew confidential, behind the 
back of his hand, but was still loud enough so that 
all could hear. “Here is an extra fine woolen pat- 
tern, an ell wide and more, of fine Spanish mixture, 
that hath paid no duty to the king (and never 
will), and so is a very special value. The like of 
it you can buy nowhere else in the land.” 

Awhile the Palmer drove a thrifty trade, and the 
Thornton dames gloated over sundry rare bargains. 
Then Guilbert noted that a new spirit came upon 
the Palmer. The man opened a small compart- 
ment in his pack, and took therefrom various 

[243] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


smaller and evidently more precious ware, setting 
them by themselves on the wall. The people 
craned to see what the packages might contain. 
Guilbert smiled, knowing by experience what was 
to come. 

“I have relics here, good friends,” he began, 
crossing himself and handling his treasures rever- 
ently. “They are of enormous value, but I shall 
sell them cheap today, that one and all, rich and poor 
alike, may be able to buy their most rare virtue.” 
He held the relics to view one by one, and his 
ready wit drew Guilbert into the crowd, highly 
amused and entertained. 

“My good men, all,” he continued earnestly, 
“a piece of wood from Noah’s ark, brought by a 
friend of mine from the far-off land of Armenia. A 
fragment of this will fend the plague from palace or 
cot. In this phial, my friends, is holy soot, gath- 
ered from the furnace in which the three Holy 
Children were so fiercely tried, as holy writ would 
tell you, an you could read. Added to apothe- 
cary’s lotion ’tis good for gout, rheumatism, tooth- 
ache or bunions.” 

“This oak wood was taken by a pilgrim from 
the manger at Bethlehem in which Mary’s child 
was cradled, as the Christmas shows do tell. I 
sold a fragment to a villein on the Rhine ten years 
agone. He had no thatch to his cot, and his 
purse was empty after paying for the relic. Today 
he is a rich merchant, trading far a-field, with much 
good money to his credit in the banks. ’Tis a 
[244] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


lucky wood, and I would that you all were growing 
richer by its power.” 

“Now look you here! ’Tis a bunch of thorns 
from the crown the Savior wore the First Good 
Friday. I sell them one by one, and they have 
marvelous virtue, as hundreds have experienced. 
The Bishop of Compostella blessed them for me 
six years agone, and they are good for miracles of 
healing yet. Behold, here! Greatest and rarest 
relic of them all is this feather from the archangel 
Gabriel’s wing. Step up! Step up, men and 
women. Be not afraid! View my wares, and 
buy yourselves rich.” 

Perhaps money was scarce, or a close look at the 
sacred objects may not have inspired confidence, or 
other and quite different influences may have been 
at work. At any rate the market was dull, and 
the Palmer added little to his wealth even by sell- 
ing relics. However, the man was by no means 
discouraged, and his antics kept the crowd in fine 
humor. 

Suddenly the Palmer changed his tactics. In 
a spirit that mingled banter and insinuation in 
equal parts, he broke out in an entirely new vein. 
“Well, my Masters, it seems that I cannot sell you 
goods today. But, by sonties, I will tomorrow! 
By all the holy saints, tomorrow will I empty 
my pack of every blessed thing! In the meanwhile, 
to advertise my bargains, and to surely bring you 
back tomorrow, I will give away a fortune of goods 
today. Do you, the lucky ones, to whom I make 

[245] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


these gifts, advertise to your neighbors that never 
before was such a Palmer in Thornton village. 
King Richard’s land has never seen such bargains 
as I will show. Here my man, do you help me with 
this present matter in hand. Nay, come along; 
be not afraid. I’ll neither turn you into a mouse, 
nor steal your wife! Moreover, you shall have 
ample reward.” 

The Palmer spoke to honest Martin Reeve, and 
that worthy pushed his way among his neighbors, 
who tossed rough humor at him as he elbowed 
through. Old Martin’s face was wreathed in 
smiles, and he did not fail to return his neighbors’ 
banter in kind, with something quaintly added by 
way of interest. When Martin reached the Palmer, 
the holy man whispered something into his ear, 
which Guilbert could but notice had the effect of 
winning Martin most heartily into his new service. 
From a compartment of his pack hitherto untouched 
the Palmer drew certain trinkets and small ware. 
Martin clambered to the top of the wall and stood 
beside the pack, scrutinizing the faces of the crowd. 

The Palmer handed his new assistant a package, 
and Martin lost no time in crying, “Ralph Shepherd, 
here’s a woolen sample for the wife and bairns. 
Hello! Danby of the Inn! The Palmer says this 
muffler is for you to use instead of ale, and is to 
keep you warm when the nights are cold! — ” 

“Nay! No handing!” broke in the Palmer. 
“Come, and get the goods yourselves. What’s 
worth having’s worth fetching! Make nobody 
[246] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


your pack mule! Let the men answer, not the 
women.” 

Martin called the names of more than a score, 
and handed to each man a package, selected 
by the thrifty Palmer with some show of care. 
Guilbert noted that the gifts caused remarkable 
hilarity among the villagers. Men went about 
slapping each other on the back and shaking 
hands, as though it were a feast day, or as 
though the Palmer had brought about the con- 
summation of some long-looked-for and wide- 
reaching event. 

At length the Palmer’s eye rested on Guilbert de 
Rouen, who was standing with mine host and 
Betty Danby on the outskirt of the crowd. ”1 
must not forget the fine gentleman!” he exclaimed, 
and he turned to search his pack for something 
suitable to Guilbert’s evident rank. “Take this 
to the fine gentleman, and tell him he may examine 
my pack at leisure at the Inn, if he will.” 

He put a silver tinder box into Martin’s hands. 
It was a dainty as well as a useful article, 
and one of considerable value, and Martin eyed 
it with evident interest as he bore it to its destina- 
tion. 

“I hope to enjoy your company at the Inn,” 
the Palmer shouted across the crowd to Guilbert. 
“And may you never find the tinder wet when 
you want a fire.” 

Then the jolly man flung a handful of confec- 
tions among the crowd, and while everybody was 

[247] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


scrambling for the sweets he closed his pack and 
disappeared. 

Guilbert placed the tinder box in his pocket, re- 
marking, with a good-humored laugh, that the Palmer 
would doubtless exact double pay on the morrow. 

After supper Guilbert sat in front of the Saracen’s 
Head a little apart from other loungers, watching 
lads pitch quoits. Unconsciously he fell to toying 
with his new tinder box. The lid was open, but 
Guilbert’s thoughts were busy with the Palmer, 
with foreign travel, and with the European cities 
whose life he knew so well. His long list of con- 
tinental acquaintances crowded into his memory 
most pleasantly. He wondered what parts the 
Palmer had traveled, whether he had met any of 
his personal friends, and whether it might not be 
possible that the Palmer had messages for him. 
He was meditating dreamily, enjoying the prospect 
of the approaching visit with a traveled man, when 
his eye fell upon a little wad of parchment thrust 
into the bottom of the compartment intended to 
hold the tinder. Hastily unrolling the parchment, 
he was greatly surprised to see his own name written 
thereon. 

Guilbert was now wide awake! He closed the 
lid, thrust the box into his pocket, and hastened 
into the privacy of his own room. When he had 
shut the door, he unfolded the parchment, and, 
greatly astonished, he read: 

“Lovers of the People’s Cause will meet tonight 
in the stables of the Inn. Come.” 

[248] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The note cast Guilbert de Rouen into the valley 
of decision. In company with all England he 
knew revolution was in the air. Discontent had 
everywhere turned into arch conspiracy. News 
from Kent and Essex was of the blackest, and 
daily grew worse. The poor were breaking into 
open revolt. Love of justice had thrust many 
who were rich into the swelling ranks of discontent. 
Guilbert’s sympathies were naturally with the 
under dog. But the consequences of revolution 
were most serious, especially if the revolution failed. 
In that event Guilbert could not blind himself to 
the fact that revolt meant the pains of death, or, 
at best, an escape from the country that would 
mean banishment therefrom for life. 

His suit at the Manor House showed little pros- 
pect of success, but with Guilbert hope was faith, 
and he was loth to be obliged to put the sea for a 
moat between him and the castle he fain would 
win. Still the People’s Cause sadly needed leaders. 
Ignorance and incompetence were likely to lead it 
into many a foul ditch. Guilbert spent an hour or 
two in deep study of the local situation, and of his 
own relationship to it, till the midnight hour rang 
from the distant Abbey tower, and both the Inn 
and the village seemed to be sound asleep. 

Then there came a signal at the closed doors of 
the courtyard. A groom answered with a lantern, 
briskly but very quietly. After brief and low par- 
ley, the groom let somebody in. For an hour or 
more stealthy footsteps, singly and in twos and 

[249] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


threes, crossed the yard, and the stable door 
opened and shut upon all who came. At length 
Guilbert arose, his decision made, and the door 
closed upon him also. 


[250] 


CHAPTER XVII. CONSPIRACY 



















* 
















CHAPTER XVII 

CONSPIRACY 


WHICH DULY CHRONICLES THE STRANGE DOINGS OF 
A MIDNIGHT CONSPIRACY, AND SETS FORTH THE 
SEVERAL PARTS TAKEN THEREIN BY SUNDRY 
FOLK WHO MAINTAIN PROMINENT ROLES IN THE 
CAST OF THE STORY 

Among the Rembrant shadows of the stable the 
Holy Palmer met Guilbert with outstretched hand. 
“Welcome, Guilbert de Rouen,” he said, “I thought 
you were never coming.” 

“Brother Barr!” exclaimed Guilbert. “I knew 
not that you were here.” 

“Here, and at your service!” answered the genial 
man, with a ceremonious bow. “ I wager my bottle 
and bell that you did not penetrate my disguise! 
The gewgaws are all gone, you see. Compostella 
trinkets and holy relics! Bottle and bell, palm 
and shell!” 

The man laughed softly, in good humor with 
himself. Then he sobered, looking about upon the 
men as they talked in groups in the stable. “ I was 
forced to these frippery chapman wares,” he con- 
tinued. “At Lincoln the Sheriff’s men had news 
of me on the road, and planned to bag game! 
Overnight the Brotherhood turned me into a Pal- 
mer. In the morning I sold a holy relic to the 
[ 253 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Sheriff’s wife in her parlor. I yarned with the 
guard at the Roman gate, and came on my way 
in open daylight. So, you did not know me! 
Neither did old Martin!” he concluded, as he 
chuckled in high glee at the happy outcome of his 
adventure. 

“How do matters stand? What’s the latest 
news?” asked Guilbert. 

“News enough, and good enough!” exclaimed 
Brother Barr, rubbing his hands with enthusiasm. 
“Kent has risen. Essex is neck and neck with 
Kent, straining toward London. The advance on 
London may begin any day. Indeed, I have reason 
to believe that the first blow has already been struck. 
Moreover, thank God, John Ball is out of prison. 
There’s a man for you! O, a new day dawns, and 
my blood tingles to see its sun rise. I can hear the 
tramp of russet! ” 

“But, did Mars ever usher in a good day?” 
interrupted Guilbert. “ I like not to see the sword 
unsheathed.” 

The agitator answered instantly, and with 
warmth: “Only the sword can right our wrongs. 
You who were born out of the land, view the land’s 
woes too much at arm’s length. Our troubles lie 
close underneath our hearts. ’Tis time the people 
had a chance. Heard you ever Islip’s letter to the 
old king? No? Not often does a priest ring 
true to the People’s Cause. I suppose, however, 
that Islip is more concerned with the woes of manor 
houses than with those of villeins.” 

[254] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Brother Barr searched his wallet. When he 
found the parchment, he held it to the lantern that 
hung from a rafter. The dim light gleamed on the 
black page, and on the strong lines of the man’s 
face — a face graven with the tragedy of the slow 
up-winding ways of man. He read to Guilbert 
Archbishop Islip’s famous letter to King Edward: 

“‘When men hear of your coming, everybody 
at once, for sheer fear, sets about hiding, or eating, 
or getting rid of their geese and chickens or other 
possessions, that they may not utterly lose them 
through your arrival. The purveyors and servers 
of your court seize on men and horses in the midst 
of their field work. They seize on the very bullocks 
that are at plow or at sowing, and force them to 
work for two or three days at a time without a 
penny of payment. It is no wonder that men make 
dole and murmur at your approach, for, as the truth 
is in God, I myself, whenever I hear a rumor of it, 
be I at home, or in Chapter, or in Church, or at 
study, nay if I am saying mass, even I, in my own 
person, tremble in every limb.’ ” 

“What think you of that?’’ queried Brother 
Barr, replacing the parchment in his pouch. “It 
does not tell half. True, young Richard is not as 
bad as old Edward, but he will be when he is as well 
used to the saddle. They all grow callous with 
rule. The people need bread. They earn more 
than penny ale and rye. Cot as well as palace 
should have meat and fish, to make bone and 
sinew.” 


[255] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


There was silence in the stall awhile, and Guilbert 
meditated. The low drone of whispered conversa- 
tion among the stalls in other parts of the stable 
was all that indicated the presence of the other 
conspirators, so quiet was it. A man opened a 
lantern to snuff the candle therein, and stamped the 
evil-smelling wick into the clay of the floor. Some- 
where a sow snored and her litter squealed protest 
against this midnight intrusion. Out doors a 
cock hailed the coming dawn. 

“Do you attack the Manor House?” asked Guil- 
bert, a note of apprehension in his voice. 

Brother Barr smiled, and answered, “No! Sir 
William is too much one of us. At heart he is with 
us. He has taken his men-at-arms to London to 
serve the King, and Martin Reeve and Ralph Shep- 
herd, whom he leaves in charge here, will play into 
our hands. Mars will not disturb your bird at 
the Manor House!” 

“ ’Tis well,” answered Guilbert. “ I thank you — ” 

Suddenly, and as silently as though he had been 
but a bundle of feathers, Dwarf Henry dropped 
into the stall from the hay loft, and stood looking 
stolidly into the faces of the two men. 

“My conscience!” exclaimed Brother Barr, under 
his breath. “ ’Tis well you are a friend. A foe 
as stealthy would turn steel between our ribs before 
we could half wink an eye! What news, now?” 

The Dwarf grinned his appreciation of the com- 
pliment. Then he answered drolly, the while his 
twinkling eyes belied his solemn face, “There’ll be 

[256] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


five hundred men in Thornton woods two nights 
from now. They will come self-armed, because 
there is nobody to arm them. Not a pitchfork, 
scythe, or sickle will be left where they come from ! 
Such harvesters! They’ll fill their own wallets, or 
go hungry! But hungry men fight longest and 
best! La Rue bade me give you this, and warn 
you to be ready; Guilbert de Rouen, you, and all.” 

The Dwarf handed Brother Barr a sealed pack- 
age, and while the russet priest read the missive, 
he continued, under his breath, and greatly excited, 
“Dean Fletcher certainly has the stolen deed to 
the Manor lands. Yesterday I saw it again. All 
other parchments are in the muniment room, but 
the Dean keeps the Manor deed in the chest by his 
bed. He dotes on that parchment! O, but I tell 
you, he is clever! He screws his eyes into me! 
He will not have me in his precious house any more ! 
Now, also, behold, he forbids me the Abbey! 
What has Dwarfy done? I’ll go in with the villeins, 
over the walls ! Let me at the Dean ! Saint S^tan ! 
I’ll crush his ribs, and break his shaven pate!” 

“Well, we’ll give you a chance, day after tomor- 
row,” said Brother Barr. “Meanwhile, you may 
go. Keep watch. Report aught stirring.” The 
two men smiled, and the Dwarf ambled out of the 
stall to a hearty welcome among the conspirators. 

“We must have the Abbey,” continued Brother 
Barr, when the Dwarf had gone. “Had Thomas de 
Gretham remained Abbot, no harm would have 
been aimed at him, or at his house. But this 

[257] 


17 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Abbot-elect is a different kind of man. He seems 
to be a bad man. He sides against the common 
folk. Moreover, the parchment records of the 
whole country-side are stored in the muniment 
room for safe keeping. We must destroy these 
records, for they are the legal instruments of the 
people’s serfdom. By the way, Guilbert, where 
can Abbot Thomas be? I vow, there seems to be a 
mystery about his going out, and about Fletcher’s 
coming in. Richard’s is a crafty pate! The 
Dwarf’s no fool; he hits him off! It is very strange 
that a man should entirely disappear so suddenly.” 

Guilbert shook his head, as though the mystery 
were too deep for him. He mused awhile, and 
Brother Barr watched him earnestly. Then Guil- 
bert said, firmly, almost vehemently, putting the 
conviction of his soul into the words, “Yes, we will 
attack the Abbey! I’m with you, sword and all. 
Once inside, we’ll singe the Dean and serve the 
Manor House by burning the stolen will! ’Twill 
be a fine special Providence! Here is my hand 
on it and may we all win clear of the gallows!” 

While the two men stood tense with solemn feel- 
ing, their hands clasped in token of the compact 
which easily might lead both to the gibbet, a man 
in russet stepped noiselessly out of the shadow of 
a pile of hay. He, too, wore the garb of Wyclif’s 
Poor Priests. 

“Your pardon comrades,” said he, with easy 
voice and pleasant address. “Accident made me 
eavesdropper. Unless my ears deceived me, you 

[258] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


were speaking of Kent and Essex. I am just from 
those parts, and can give you the latest news — ” 

“But, in the name of heaven, who are you, and 
how came you here?” interrupted Brother Barr, 
sharply. 

“I am a clerk of Oxenford, Thirwood by name. 
Of Wyclif’s Poor Priests, and of the Brotherhood 
am I, as you well can see. At the door I gave the 
sign, even as the rest. I am one with you in the 
Cause.” 

Brother Barr’s suspicion was not allayed. ‘ ‘ And, 
pray, what is the sign and countersign tonight?” 
he demanded, sharply. 

“The sign is ‘Saul’; the countersign, ‘David and 
Jonathan,’ ” promptly answered the clerk. He 
took from the bosom of his habit a missive, and gave 
it to Brother Barr, who promptly broke the seal 
and read the parchment. 

Turning sharply to the russet clerk, Brother 
Barr said, “You may retire. It were better for you 
to retire quickly, and to the Inn. Should I need 
you further, I will send for you. Dwarf Henry,” 
— and at the sound of his name, that worthy im- 
mediately appeared — “convey this priest to the 
Inn. Entertain him in the kitchen.” 

When the Dwarf and the clerk had disappeared, 
Brother Barr turned toward Guilbert nervously. 
“I like not the looks of the fellow,” he said. “ Per- 
haps, however, I am prejudiced, because he sur- 
prised us! One hates to be surprised in the midst 
of conspiracy! But he is so smooth! He turns 

[259] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


corners too easily! Were he in Hades, he’d oil his 
way out! We must have an eye on him, or mis- 
chief may follow. The Dwarf will watch him, 
I doubt not! However, be he honest man or 
knave, he certainly brings authentic news. Here’s 
John Ball’s own writing and signature. The people 
are astir. Canterbury is in our hands. Our fel- 
lows have sacked the Archbishop’s palace. Directed 
by triumphant Russet, the snivelling monks have 
elected a new Archbishop in place of old Simon 
Sudbury! I wonder how his grace will like that 
turn in the wheel of fortune. If Russet gets hold 
of Simon’s person, they’ll swing the old fellow sky 
high! In good John Ball the Cause now has a 
head. Now will there be fire as well as wisdom 
in our councils! The cry is, ‘On to London.’ I 
can hear their tramp, tramp, even now. We need 
to busy ourselves getting the revolt started here.” 

Guilbert and Brother Barr started on a tour of 
the stable. In a cart shed at the rear, they came 
upon an excited group. The villeins were gathered 
about a man seated upon an up-turned plow. As 
were all the rest, the man was clad in homespun. 
To all appearances he might have been a villein, 
though it was his vehement protest against that 
estate that first attracted Guilbert’s attention to 
him. Guilbert noted with horror a fiery purple 
scar in the center of the man’s forehead, where, 
evidently, the letter “V” had recently been branded 
with hot iron. 

“Neither I nor mine, had ever been villeins,” 
[ 260 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the man was protesting, when Guilbert and Brother 
Barr came upon the group. “We have always 
lived free in Barton, and I know not that any of 
our folk were ever villeins. But I went to Barrowe 
a week ago to see my cousin wed, and on the street 
a damned man-of-law set the reeve upon me. 
Fight as I would, they overpowered me, and branded 
me a villein. And now I bear the scar for life.” 

The shamed man buried his face in his hands, and 
he sobbed like a hurt child. He rose, clinched his 
hands in fierce, bitter passion, and, with eyes that 
saw through to the sky, lifted his face towards the 
thatch. Then in the spirit of a hot curse he hissed 
between his teeth, “When the rising comes, if that 
damned man-of-law or reeve escape me, then, O 
Holy Mother, I’m not branded!” 

The man sat down again on the plow, and turned 
his face from the lantern, that shadow might hide 
the hateful scar, and that he might not feel the 
eyes of his fellows riveted upon his sign of shame. 
The men about him sobbed their sympathy, and 
breathed instant revenge. His comrades knew 
that multiplied hundreds of such unlawful, unright- 
eous, inhuman brandings lay at the bottom of the 
impending revolt. They clinched their fists, feeling 
themselves to be the agents of divine retribution. 
The day of reckoning would be the day after tomor- 
row. Let the People’s oppressors beware! By 
sonties, let them beware! 

The men pressed about Brother Barr. Very 
adroitly the agitator spoke to them, warping his 
[261 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


facts so as to fire the peasant heart. The revolt 
had actually begun. Kent was in arms. Essex 
held the north bank of the Thames in the march 
on London. King and government would soon be 
in the people’s hands, when they would right the 
piled up wrongs of ages, and bring in the reign of a 
thousand happy years. Every man must do his 
part, and act with vigor and promptness, and also 
be obedient to those in command. Let the men 
gather at Thornton at the appointed hour. From 
there they would join other companies in the march 
on Lincoln. In Lincoln they had many friends, 
and the gates would be open. Then would the 
rule of kings and nobles be ended, and Liberty, 
Equality, and Fraternity hold sway over all the land. 

The conference fell to planning the local revolt. 
There was unanimity against disturbing the Manor 
House. But the Abbey was foreordained to de- 
struction. A babel of voices foreordained its doom. 

The men’s ready credulity pained Guilbert. 

“The lazy monks are rich — rich as Jews, and 
we need both treasure and money for ourselves, and 
for the Cause.” 

“I mind me when the French galleon stranded 
on the Humber. Our Thornton monks hauled 
cartload after cartload of treasure, and stowed the 
plunder in the vaults. Their vaults be bulging full ; 
a sight to see!” 

“Once a lay brother took me into the treasury, 
and I saw stacks of gold and silver, tons of costly 
things stowed away in strong boxes!” 

[262] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“ There’s more to tell! The Keelby witch told 
Rob Swain that there is a treasure cave in the 
Abbey. Even the monks know nothing about it. 
You reach it by an underground passage from the 
south transept of the church. The witch said the 
cave is full of gold. We’ll find that passage, and 
reap rich harvest!” 

“ I know all about the plate and treasure ! When 
the monks had the big banquet, a year agone, when 
the religious popin-jays dedicated the new church, 
it was none other than I who helped set up the 
tables and make ready. I tell you the muniment 
room is bursting with plate and treasure, enough to 
make every poor villein rich as a lord. Never saw 
I such a sight as when the tables were spread. It 
looked like the streets of gold, the rivers of silver, 
and the acres of precious stones in Prester John’s 
kingdom, that Brother Barr sometimes yarns about. 
It made my hands hungrier than my stomach, to see 
so much wealth lying idle. The lay brethren told 
me that they only use the plate once or twice in a 
lifetime. ’Tis a crying shame that so much wealth 
should be idle when the people starve.” 

“And we have only a pewter pot or two, and 
half a dozen earthenware crocks in our cots — bah! 
how came they to have so much and we so little.” 

“Let me tell you another thing, lads, far worse 
and yet far better than all. In the muniment room 
are stowed half the Manor Rolls, and deeds, and 
other law-scratchments of this part of the country 
— carried there for safe keep, my lads! Those be 
[263] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


our worst foes — lawyers and legal parchments. 
Being bunched together here under our noses, what’s 
to prevent our burning them where they are? A 
rare bonfire, that!” 

“Aye! Aye! We’ll burn the rolls, and set our 
brothers free!” 

A clatter of hoofs in the street suddenly ended 
the tirade against the monks. Boisterous shouts, 
the cracking of many whips, foul oaths and curses, 
accompanied by snatches of ribald song, invaded 
the stable. Instantly men blew out the candles 
in the lanters. A tense silence followed. Guilbert 
and Brother Barr stood quiet with the rest, waiting 
in suspense what might happen. 

The door opened suddenly, and the Dwarf 
entered, greatly excited. 

“’Tis Green Devil,” he exclaimed. “ ’Tis the 
first sight of him I’ve had, and I want no other! 
He’s no make-believe, I tell you, but the veritable 
fiend himself, albeit green instead of red. He rode 
a coal-black horse, and a dozen imps trailed behind 
him on either flank — two rows of flaming hell, I 
tell you! Their horses snorted fire at every leap! 
They had dogs, too, — bloodhounds, methought — 
very fierce, and strong of limb and fang. God help 
the poor this night, for they are beyond human 
help when Green Devil rides. The fiends sang 
1 Glasgerion’ as they passed. Back to hell with the 
troop, I say, with their lewd singing, their stealing, 
their raping, and their killing.” 

A great awe had come over the men in the stable, 
[264] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


and it worked itself out into a strong purpose of re- 
venge. Brother Barr spoke what the men dimly felt. 
“Fear not, Brothers,” said he. “Green Devil’s 
doom is sealed with the triumph of the People’s 
Cause. Wrong-doing and anarchy will end when 
the people come to their own. Where both King 
and Sheriff have failed, we will surely lay the Green 
Devil. As the first signal of our triumph, Green 
Devil shall have a taut rope for his stock, and we’ll 
rid the earth of his carrion.” 

When the first dim suggestion of morning twi- 
light lay softly upon the land, the conspirators 
melted stealthily away, even as they had come. 
“The day after tomorrow, Brother, at midnight, 
secretly, and for victory,” said Brother Barr 
solemnly to the men, as they passed out of the stable 
door. 

Courtyard, stable, and inn, the church steeple, 
the village thatch, and the environing woods lay 
midway between dream and reality in the morning’s 
dawn. There was light enough for the men to see in 
each others faces the grip of a grim purpose. They 
scattered silently, in the faith that victory was near. 

After the men were gone, the lure of the summer 
dawn straightway led Guilbert toward the edge of 
the forest. He was elated, and strangely excited, 
thinking of the People’s Cause, and wondering 
what coming events might bring forth. As he 
walked, he heard his name pronounced. Instantly 
he stood still, and looked around, expecting to see 
some friend. Nobody was in sight. 

[265] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Thinking that imagination had played a trick 
with his ears, Guilbert walked on. A moment 
later the call came again, clear and distinct, and 
in a woman’s voice. Again Guilbert stood still, 
looking around and listening intently, but he neither 
saw nor heard aught. 

“ ’Tis a parrot from the Southlands,” he laughed 
to himself, half amused, half vexed. “But who 
taught the mimic to pronounce my name!” 

Again came the call: “Guilbert de Rouen! 
Guilbert de Rouen ! Y ou walk early this morning ! ’ ’ 

A movement in a pine a few paces from the path 
attracted Guilbert’ s attention, and shortly he saw 
the Keelby witch descending from the tree to the 
ground. 

“Called you me?” Guilbert asked, as the witch 
approached. 

“Day after tomorrow, at midnight, secretly, 
and for victory,” answered the witch, perfectly 
simulating Brother Barr’s voice and manner. 

Guilbert was astounded. Then, the secret was 
out ! The witch stood in the path, her arms akimbo, 
her head cocked comically sideways, and her eye 
fixed on the top of a near-by pine. Guilbert’ s eye 
ranged the pine, but there was nothing to be seen. 

“ Called you me!” Guilbert asked again. 

Without changing her position in the path, 
the witch cocked her head to the other side, and 
looked into the top of an oak, as she answered, 
“Attack the Abbey, burn the parchments every 
one, and set the Brothers free!” 

[266] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“My conscience!” exclaimed Guilbert, under his 
breath. “ ’Tis uncanny. What, does she know 
everything?” Then aloud, and speaking directly 
to the witch he said, “I pray you, tell me, did you 
call my name? What may you want with me?” 

In the path where she stood, the witch deliber- 
ately turned her back on Guilbert, and looked far 
down the way. Then, in a whimsical air, and wav- 
ing her hand backward over her shoulder at Guilbert 
in a manner that almost made him laugh, in spite 
of the seriousness of the situation, she said: “Once 
inside the Abbey, Guilbert de Rouen, it might pay 
you to look for Abbot Thomas. Mayhap, the Abbot 
is not in France. He might even be locked 
in an Abbey dungeon. If I were you, I would search 
awhile!” 

The witch tripped down the path like a deer. 
A moment later the brush hid her from sight. 


[267 ] 





CHAPTER XVIII. DEAN FLETCHER 












* 



CHAPTER XVIII 


DEAN FLETCHER 

IN WHICH IT APPEARS THAT A MAN OF PEACEABLE 
VOCATION MAY BECOME A MAN OF WAR, AND 
A CHAIN OF NOTABLE EVENTS LEADS THE DEAN 
OF THORNTON TO BRING TO THE ABBEY CERTAIN 
QUESTIONABLE AND MYSTERIOUS ALLIES 

On the evening of the next day Dean Fletcher sat 
in the Deanery, and with him was a man booted 
and spurred and ready to ride. Dean Fletcher hardly 
seemed to be the Dean, for the stoop was largely 
gone from his shoulders, and his face was set with 
a resolution so strong and fiery that it almost 
seemed to unfrock him. The two men were end- 
ing a conference, and the mark of earnestness ap- 
peared in the word and demeanor of them both. 

The Dean tore a strip of parchment into shreds. 

“No; I will not hamper you with a dispatch,” 
he said to his companion. “Should you be caught, 
the scrip might hang you. Word of mouth will 
be better. Ride to Lincoln forthwith, and furi- 
ously. Melt flint under your hoofs. Hire, borrow, 
or steal horses, as you may need, but gain the city 
as fast as horseflesh will carry you. Tell the 
Sheriff that we are attacked. The villeins will 
surely close in on us before morning. The Sheriff 
must ride with a strong troop and without delay, 
[271 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


or we be all dead men. The matter is most urgent. 
Ride man! Ride, for your life, and for ours!” 

The two men hurried out. On the garth a lay 
Brother held a restive horse, saddled and bridled. 
The messenger took a bow and a full quiver from 
the lay Brother. He slung the bow across his 
back, hung the quiver on his belt behind his handy 
dagger, and sprang into the saddle. The Dean 
walked by the side of the horseman to the Gate 
House. As the man rode across the drawbridge, 
the Dean said, “If any shoot, halt not to return a 
single arrow. Time is too precious. Ride round 
a fight, not into it. Like the wind, ride to Lin- 
coln; like the wind, bring back the Sheriff.” 

The horseman had not rounded the first turn in 
the road before Dean Fletcher was back across 
the bridge. 

“Raise the draw,” he commanded the man at 
the winch as he passed the tower. “Without 
due orders, lower it for nobody, coming in or 
going out.” The bridge promptly raised behind 
him as he entered the archway. With steady, pur- 
poseful stride the Dean crossed the garth, straight 
toward his own house. On the Deanery steps 
he met Brothers Geoffrey and Benedict. 

“Make ready for a siege,” he cried. “Secure 
the provisions. More will be in before morning. 
Lock doors and bolt shutters. Let no one out or 
in. Assure the fearful of the Brethren that there 
is no danger. Boil water, melt lead, make ready 
fire balls. Monks can fight, methinks, as well 
[272] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


as villeins. I have sent for the Sheriff, and now 
I am off for other succor. Brother Geoffrey, I leave 
you in charge until I return.” 

Geoffrey and Benedict hurried away, the Dean’s 
masterful spell upon them, and the Dean passed 
indoors. He went straight into his own room. 
Hastily he unlocked the oaken chest by his bed. 
At the pressure of his finger a secret drawer of the 
chest flew open, and the Dean seized a parchment 
that lay therein. Opening the parchment, he 
hurriedly glanced at its contents, then folded the 
document again and thrust it into his bosom, 
“It is but a bit of parchment,” he mused. “Its 
reputation is said not to be of the best. They even 
say the courts may make a riddle of it! But ’tis a 
key to land, and the key is mine, as one day will 
be the land!” 

Straightway the Dean passed from his house to 
the muniment room, in his strength disdaining to 
notice certain fearful monks scurrying across the 
garth to cover, like frightened partridges. 

“The deed will be safer here,” he said under his 
breath, as he unlocked the heavy, studded door. 
Inside, he glanced about upon the contents of the 
Abbey’s strong room — rich treasure in silver and 
gold, and the hoarded legal parchments of the 
country side — and his eyes glittered with greedy 
appreciation, while the tip of his moist tongue 
glided two or three times across his mouth, peeping 
between his dry lips. 

“Here the deed will be as safe as is the Humber 

[273] 

18 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


in its bed,” he said. He leaned a ladder against a 
stack of pigeonholes, and, climbing to the top, 
laid his precious parchment in the most out-of-the- 
way receptacle close under the foot of the arched 
ceiling. Descending quickly to the floor, he barred 
the shutters of the two windows in the room, and 
then passed quickly out doors. “That makes the 
will secure,” he said, as he locked the massive door. 
“Men-at-arms could not force it. Even if they 
win inside the Abbey, villeins will suck their bleed- 
ing knuckles at the door.” 

The Dean strode towards the Gate House, and 
the drawbridge lowered at his command. 

“Raise the bridge after me, Brother Henry,” 
he shouted toward the winch chamber as he passed. 
“Let no one in or out till I return, unless it be upon 
proper order from Brother Geoffrey, whom I leave 
in charge.” 

The Dean walked briskly down the road toward 
the forest. A mile or so from the Abbey he stopped 
at the corner of a pasture, and looked about, scrut- 
inizing every direction to see that nobody spied 
his movements. When he had satisfied himself 
that he was unobserved, he put two fingers into 
his mouth, and blew a shrill whistle. A stallion 
grazing on the farther side of the paddock, lifted 
his head and looked about. Again the Dean whis- 
tled, and promptly the horse trotted toward him, 
his head proudly erect. A bridle and saddle lay 
in the brush. With no show of compunction, the 
Dean appropriated the convenient furnishings, 

[274] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


and quickly put them on the horse, doubtless feel- 
ing that the emergency justified his freedom with 
property not his own. Then he let down the bars, 
replacing them with some show of care, and led the 
horse into the road, where he mounted and lightly 
rode upon his way. 

Dean Fletcher did not draw rein until he had 
galloped three full miles. Then he swerved his 
horse down an unfrequented lane, the entrance to 
which was overgrown with brush. A quarter of a 
mile down the winding road, the lane turned into 
a quaint steading, which was half hidden in a sharp 
ravine, and was naturally veiled from the road by 
thick underbrush. From among the trees peeped an 
old, thatched house, about which hung an air of 
desertion. Dilapidated farm-buildings, weather- 
worn and in ruins, clustered about the house, and 
huddled about the buildings stood the weathered 
remnants of ricks of hay and straw of a former 
year. The steading lay under the lea of a sharp 
wooded hill, and a limpid stream gurgled musically 
by the stack yard. The entire premises appeared 
to be deserted. 

At the door of an old, broken-down stable, the 
Dean flung himself out of the saddle. He led his 
horse into the stable, and was tying the halter rope 
to the crib, when a man hurriedly descended a ladder 
from the loft, and appeared at the foot of the stall. 

“By sonties, Tim, ’tis well you are here. Call 
your men quickly. There’s work to be done,” said 
the Dean, the while he finished tying the horse. 

[275] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The man whistled, and a moment later, from 
every direction came men running into the barn — 
a score or more of men, all dressed like villeins, 
except that here and there a man wore Lincoln 
green. They all bore indubitable marks of the 
soil upon face, hands and dress, and were evidently 
familiar with the art of tilling land. 

“Never was I so glad to see you, Jock,” exclaimed 
the Dean, as a tall burly fellow, evidently the leader, 
pushed his way to the stall. “ ’Tis well I found you 
all at home.” 

In low tones the two men conferred in the stall, 
and as he talked the Dean’s hand automatically 
caressed the sleek hide of the horse. Meanwhile 
the men stood respectfully out of earshot, but ready, 
and intently watching their leader. 

Presently, as Jock emerged from the stall, his 
face having caught fire from his conference with 
the Dean, the others promptly gathered about 
him for news. 

“Hasten men!” he said, in the short sharp tones 
of accustomed command. “Load four wagons 
with provisions. Take all the wheat, flour, and 
pork we have on hand. We can get more! Load 
every bow, bow string, and arrow we have on the 
farm, and let each man go well armed. Take green 
along, carefully hidden, but wear russet. We go 
to help the Dean hold his new seat against the 
rising. Every man goes, but Tim. He will keep 
watch till we return. We’re off in half an hour.” 

With orderly alacrity the men scattered to their 
[276] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tasks, and the steading at once became a scene of 
bustling industry. Among the freight loaded into 
the wagons were a dozen bundles of unstrung 
bows. “Rare faggots, these!” said Jock, as he 
threw the bundles up to the men who packed them 
in the wagons. “They make a hot fire!” 

In less than an hour the wagons were loaded 
with their peculiar merchandise and the men 
stood ready. 

“Bring canvas coverings,” said the Dean, laugh- 
ing. “Dew might spoil flour!” Quickly the men 
blanketed the wagons with coarse covering, which 
effectually hid their contents from sight. ‘ ‘ Let it rain , 
now, if it will!” said the Dean rubbing his hands. 

“Two teamsters to a wagon, ” cried Jock. “One 
may ride the wagon, the other lead the front horse. 
Mind, too, that you walk on the near side! The 
rest of the fellows must hide among the sacks under 
cover, and keep strict silence! Not a word! No 
fighting till we be in the Abbey! If any accost us, 
we be villeins hauling produce to ship at the haven!” 

Dean Fletcher sprang into the first wagon, and 
crouched under the cover against the front board. 

“Trot wherever you can; time counts,” he said 
to Jock, who sat just above him, driving the team. 

“Mount, till we get into the road,” cried Jock, 
and immediately the men afoot vaulted astride 
the leading horses. The drivers cracked their 
whips, and the horses started over the rough road 
at a pace that certainly would have been disastrous 
to regular merchandise. 

[277] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


At the main road the men on the leading horses 
dismounted, and the wagons slowed to a regular 
teaming pace. “If no one is in sight, trot down 
the hills,” ordered the Dean, and Jock lifted his 
whip in token that he heard and would obey. 

At a slow pace the wagons creaked down the 
dusty road. The full moon was cheating the land 
of its twilight, and the road was almost as light 
as day. Halfway to the Abbey, looking straight 
before him and cracking his whip as he spoke, 
Jock remarked to the Dean, “ Villeins move about 
in the woods on either side. There be a host of 
them. ” 

“Take care now,” whispered the Dean from 
beneath the cover. “Attract no attention; create 
no suspicion. Drive straight on ! We be villeins!” 

With short intervals between them, the wagons 
lumbered along the road. Now and again a driver 
cracked his whip and shouted an objurgation to 
his horses. Wearily the sleepy teamsters in russet 
trudged at the heads of their teams. 

Beyond a bend in the road, a hundred men in 
russet blocked the way. La Rue himself was at 
their head, and through a crack in the wagon Dean 
Fletcher saw Guilbert de Rouen moving about 
among groups of other men in the woods. “Steady, 
now !” whispered the Dean to Jock. 

Jock raised his stentorian voice in the chant of 
the Miller’s song, leaning back in his seat, and 
rollicking out the words with a zest that set the 
other teamsters and drivers singing. Ahead in 
[278] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the road, La Rue’s men took up the strain with 
a volume of enthusiasm which indicated that they 
understood the teamsters to be a part of the revolt. 

“Brothers! Brothers, mine!” cried Jock as he 
came upon the men in the road. “You sing well, 
but drag. A little quicker; so!” 

Jock stood up on the shafts, and again his voice 
rang out the famous song, but more sprightly and 
in quicker time, and La Rue’s men caught his 
enthusiasm and sang with him. 

“That’s better! How goes the day? How many 
men have we?” Jock inquired, sweeping his looped 
whip over the forest. 

“Hundreds in the woods, and more coming, hun- 
dreds every hour,” answered La Rue. “We shall 
unfeather Dean Fletcher’s nest by daybreak. Then 
shall we move promptly on Lincoln. ’Tis a 
glorious day, Brothers.” 

“Aye! Aye! We’ll pluck some feathers!” re- 
sponded Jock heartily. “We’ll drink the People’s 
health in Abbey wine, this very day! I would I 
had some Abbey wine now ! Get up, Dolly ! Robin, 
get up there, old horse!” He cracked his whip 
and flecked the lash on the horses’ flanks until, 
greatly excited, the team reared and all but over- 
turned the wagon in the road. 

“When do you attack?” Jock continued, as the 
wagons got under way. 

“At daybreak,” La Rue replied. 

‘ ‘ Glorious ! ’ ’ responded J ock. 1 1 Who would have 
thought that we would have lived to see this day!” 

[279] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The villeins in the road opened, and the russet 
teamsters and their wagons passed through their 
russet brothers and left them standing in the way. 

“That must be their advance guard,” whispered 
the Dean a few minutes later. “We’re well within 
their lines! Danger’s passed! Better trot a bit!” 

“Better be careful,” answered Jock. “ ’Tis no 
time to whistle. Later, maybe, but not now! 
Lie quiet!” 

Unperturbed, Jock held his pace even, cracking 
his whip carelessly every now and then, and sing- 
ing the popular songs of the revolt as the wagons 
moved slowly down the road. Presently the grey 
walls of the Abbey appeared in view. Then the 
Dean clambered up beside Jock on the front board, 
as Jock whipped the horses into a gallop, so that 
the men afoot had hard work to keep up. 

At the bridge the Dean sprang to the ground. 
“Drop the bridge, instantly!” he shouted to Henry 
in the tower. While the bridge slowly descended 
to its place across the moat, the Dean sprang to 
the top of a knoll, and anxiously scanned the forest 
fringe. Not a villein was in sight. The Dean 
rubbed his hands joyfully as the wagons rumbled 
over the bridge into the enclosure. Evidently, 
the villeins would not know that he had reinforce- 
ments within the Abbey. 

On the garth, the Dean’s auxiliaries tumbled out 
of the wagons hilariously, in fine humor at the 
success of the ruse. The monks gathered about 
them in open-mouthed amazement, unable as yet 
[ 280 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

to appreciate either the danger or the protection 
indicated by their presence in the Abbey. Out in 
the open the strange men put on Lincoln green 
over their russet smocks, cracking jokes and laugh- 
ing boisterously while the monks looked on the 
transformation in sheer wonderment. 

The Dean seemed master of the situation. 
Both monks and archers sprang to life under the 
spell of his leadership. “Post the sentries, Jock,” 
he commanded. “Man the walls. See that the 
portcullis works. Shut and double-bar gates and 
doors. String all our bows for the Brotherhood. 
Monks will help with that. Distribute the arrows, 
keeping plenty for yourselves. Geoffrey, store in 
the cellar the provisions we brought. And you, 
Benedict, ring all the hours, as though nothing 
had happened. Count off a few Brothers with 
lusty voices, and let them sing the offices loudly. 
The tolling hours and the singing will make the 
villeins think that they catch us off our guard!” 

It was now beyond midnight. The full moon 
bathed the Abbey with light almost as bright as 
day. Already a faint additional glow appeared on 
the horizon where later the sun would rise. The 
Dean went the rounds of the Abbey, assisting Jock 
to post sentries, and planning the defense with 
him. Monks hurried to and fro, awkward and 
nervous under the new and strange situation. 
Now and again the bell boomed solemnly in the 
tower, and the strains of chanting floated from the 
church over the Abbey and out into the forest. 
[281] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


When the twilight of the new morning and the 
moonlight of the departing night were equal, Dean 
Fletcher and Jock held an improvised school of 
archery on the garth, and a half dozen green archers 
assisted them to teach the monks how to use the 
bow. The Dean was masterful, and strove to 
infuse his spirit into the Brotherhood. To hearten 
the Brethren, when a Brother’s excessive awkward- 
ness had provoked the burly Jock to profanity, 
the Dean himself would take a bow. 

“You must hold the bow in your hand, thus,” 
he would say. In the Dean’s hand the bow would 
spring into life, as though it felt the magic touch of 
Robin Hood. “Now! See? Draw the arrow clear to 
its head, bring the feather back to your ear, thus; 
having a care to hold both bow and arrow steady! 
Aim well, Brother Frederick, and be not in too big 
a hurry. Let the arrow go with a springy motion, 
— so!” and the Dean’s arrow would cleave the mark, 
or so near would it come to the mark that Lincoln 
green could scarce forbear a cheer, forgetting for the 
moment the villeins in the woods. 

The Dean was a fighter ! With the villeins swarm- 
ing in yonder woods it was good to have such a 
leader, and the Brotherhood took courage, and felt a 
sense of satisfaction that Father Fletcher and not 
Father Thomas was their Abbot in this day of 
trouble; not knowing, in their blindness, that with 
Father Thomas in the Abbot’s chair, their house 
had been as safe from attack as is a nest from 
plunder in Paradise. 


[282 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

Leaving Jock to coach the monks in the art of 
archery, Dean Fletcher walked briskly to the draw- 
bridge. In the tower, half a dozen men in green 
stood by Henry at the winch, intently watching 
the forest line through the loopholes. 

“Aught stirring?” eagerly queried the Dean. 

“Neither twig, nor man!” 

“They’re a tardy soldiery!” answered the Dean. 
“And we are well forehanded! Mark me, Brother 
Henry. Lower the bridge, and let it stay down. 
Go you, sit on the bench on the parapet out in the 
open, and feign sleep. Do you, Will Long,” — 
speaking to a tall man in green — “stand, ready, 
by the winch. Doubtless, seeing the bridge down, 
they will try to rush it. When they start, raise 
the bridge quickly — then give them arrows, — 
plenty of them, well and strongly aimed.” 

In apparent confidence, the Dean passed cheerily 
to the upper chamber over the Gate House. There, 
half a dozen monks stood about a green archer 
who examined the winch of the portcullis. 

“Is everything clear below, John?” asked the 
Dean. 

The man peered out, then nodded. Whereupon 
the Dean pulled a lever, and the portcullis crashed 
down its grooves, and ground into the pavement 
under the arch. “It works well, and responds 
quickly,” exclaimed the Dean. “Wind it to its re- 
cess again, and set the catch ready.” 

Dean Fletcher continued his rounds. Wind- 
ing down the turret steps, he said unto him- 
[283] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


self, “La Rue and Guilbert de Rouen will have a 
surprise for breakfast!” He laughed softly as he 
passed out and joined Jock among the monks on 
the garth. 


[284] 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE APPRENTICES OF MARS 






CHAPTER XIX 


THE APPRENTICES OF MARS 

IN WHICH MONK AND VILLEIN JOIN AN ISSUE ON A 
BLOODY FIELD, AND DEAN FLETCHER, HIS MONKS, 
AND HIS ALLIES, LONG FOR THE SHERIFF OR FOR 
NIGHT 

The woods outside the Abbey swarmed with 
armed men. At crossroads over half the country 
side, Jack had met Hob, also many a Will, Tom, 
Bill, Tim, Walt and Jim. They had clapped each 
other hilariously on the back, sworn strange new 
oaths of fellowship, talked over the good times nigh 
at hand, and ever and anon had livened the night 
with stanzas from Piers the Plowman — ever con- 
verging toward Thornton as they marched, and 
ever joined by other russet groups, and by still 
others, all moving toward the Abbey at Thornton, 
and all bound by the same solemn pact. 

“See that the men be silent, and keep cover,” 
commanded La Rue, early in the night. “Let no 
man show himself toward the Abbey. A surprise 
will win us the fight — mayhap, without bloodshed.” 

Martin Reeve and Jack Shepherd ran in opposite 
directions to pass the command along, and Guilbert 
de Rouen and Brother Barr sat upon a fallen tree, 
and discussed with La Rue details of the attack. 

In a little while the Dwarf returned with Martin, 
[287] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


and Guilbert called the two aside. “Martin,” 
he said earnestly, “Once within the Abbey, assist 
the Dwarf to find the stolen Manor deed. The 
Dwarf thinks it is in the chest in the Dean’s bed- 
room. A reward for you, if you find the will! 
Bring it to me, or see that it is destroyed.” 

The Dwarf grinned his satisfaction, and stood 
on his head at the happy prospect. 

A bell boomed from the Abbey tower, and the 
villeins danced with glee. “The monks are going 
to prayer,” Russet said. “They know not that 
they have visitors so close! We will set the Dean 
a-chanting new tunes.” 

Guilbert smiled on the villeins’ simple-minded 
hilarity. They were like children playing at war, 
and did not know how serious might be the con- 
sequences. Presently J ack Shepherd returned from 
a reconnaissance, and the leaders gathered to listen 
to his report. 

“The Abbey bell tolls regularly, and the monks 
sing psalms as though it were Christmas! The 
drawbridge is down, and Brother Henry is fast 
asleep. His head lops on his breast, and I swear 
I heard him snore!” 

La Rue laughed, and immediately he issued his 
final orders. 

Shortly the woods came to life. Cautiously and 
silently the villeins crept to the edge of the clearing, 
like beasts of prey stalking an unsuspecting victim. 
The morning twilight looked into the wan faces of 
close upon a thousand men, massed in the woods 
[288] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


and waiting the command to dash upon the Gate 
House. 

“One grand rush, and the priests’ nest is ours,” 
cried La Rue, springing to the open. “Now! 
Altogether! Follow me!” 

Shouting wildly, “The Fellowship! The Fel- 
lowship!” and tossing their greasy caps high in the 
air, the villeins sprang into the open after La Rue. 
Precisely at that moment the drawbridge com- 
menced to rise. When the frantic, shouting vil- 
leins reached the moat, the bridge was fifteen feet 
in the air, and was still ascending. At the head of 
their men, La Rue and Guilbert halted on the edge 
of the moat, looking impotently over thirty feet 
of water. The iron teeth of the portcullis grinned 
at them over the moat from under the arch of 
the gateway, in silent mockery of their helpless 
chagrin. 

“Back, men! Back! In heaven’s name, back, 
I say,” shouted La Rue, all but pushed into the 
water by the pressure of his men. The onrush 
had thrown a dozen villeins into the moat. In the 
nick of time, when chagrin and confusion had 
bereft the men of purpose, hidden archers poured 
a flight of arrows into the shouting, swaying mass. 
Then archers in Lincoln green ran along the para- 
pets, and, at short range, shot their arrows into the 
confused crowd. Dazed and crazed, the mob 
broke, and fled helter-skelter across the clearing, 
leaving half a dozen dead in the open — strangely 
quiet, and huddled on the grass in limp disheveled 
[289] 


19 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


heaps, stained with sickening blood, the horrid first 
fruits of revolt. 

Under cover of the wood the leaders rallied the 
rout. It was no easy task. Curiosity as to where 
Dean Fletcher had secured his green archers speedily 
gave place to practical discussion of the immediate 
situation. Outwardly, Guilbert maintained his 
courage, though he was sick at heart. The villeins 
were so ill clad, so hungry, so dirty, and, worse 
than all beside, their weapons were so nondescript. 
Sickles, scythes, bladeless snaths, kitchen knives, 
axes, spades, pitchforks, mattocks, hoes and picks, 
lay strewn about the forest in hopeless confusion, 
where the men had thrown them as they had gained 
cover. 

“Pick up your arms, men,” shouted Guilbert. 
Mechanically, the men obeyed. But what a sight * 
it was! Shepherds brandished harmless crooks. 
Many a plowman could only crack his whip to swell 
the din of war, and some of the men bore naught 
more warlike than the stout quarterstaves with 
which they had been wont to wage alehouse war at 
village fairs. 

“ Only an abbot of misrule would be fool enough to 
war with such troops!” exclaimed Guilbert to La 
Rue, bitterly. That wily agitator had only time to 
smile on Guilbert’s discouragement, as he dashed 
from group to group, getting the men back into line. 

Occasionally, here and there in the motley throng 
Guilbert caught the gleam of pike, a halberd, or a 
sword, borne by some man who had served in the 
[290] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

French wars, while perhaps a hundred men carried 
bows and arrows. These scattered men and their 
arms were Guilbert’s only ray of hope. 

“Gather me every man who has served in France,” 
said Guilbert to Martin Reeve. “Rally every bow 
and spear in the woods. I’ll meet you under 
yonder elm when the sun is higher by an hour.” 

It was Guilbert’s plan that shortly brought the 
woods to order. At his command, a company of the 
unarmed men raided the neighboring steadings. 
Later they returned, pushing before them a score or 
more of empty carts. 

“The shovels! Here, shovels!” shouted La Rue. 
The men with shovels ran in, and speedily had half 
filled the carts with gravel and stones. 

Then the sound of axes rang through the forest, 
echoing so loudly that it must have set a-guessing 
Dean Fletcher and his green archers in the Abbey. 
The villeins felled trees, plying their axes as for 
dear life. They lopped off and chopped small the 
branches, and mowed down underbush, and withed 
the twigs into large faggots, which they loaded high 
and wide on the carts, on top of the gravel ballast. 

“Push the carts ahead, men!” commanded La 
Rue. “Six men to a shaft, to hold the cart steady. 
The rest, shove where you can.” 

Pushed by the men, the carts moved slowly but 
steadily to the edge of the clearing towards the 
Abbey. 

Guilbert de Rouen reviewed Martin Reeve’s 
nondescript veterans, and at sight of them his 
[291 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

blood quickened. “They’ll do!” he exclaimed to 
Martin, who was as proud of his ragamuffins as 
though they had been a victorious army. “Hold 
them ready! Everything depends on them. The 
rest have neither arms nor experience. Put your 
best bowmen to the front. Bid them take good 
aim, and to shoot only at a living mark. See that 
they keep cover.” 

At the word of command the carts moved out 
into the open, directly toward the Gate House, 
where the drawbridge still pointed to the sky, and 
where the green archers watched and waited. 

“Men-at-arms,” commanded Guilbert — and his 
voice rang out clear and strong, spreading confi- 
dence — “advance under cover of the carts. You 
who push the carts, take care that you do not expose 
yourselves. Any man wounded before we reach 
the draw — I’ll cut off his foolish head! Advance, 
straight but slowly toward the moat to the right of 
the drawbridge.” 

The strange procession started, apparently of its 
own accord. From the Gate House, not a man 
showed among the carts. It was as though the 
loads of green wood advanced automatically toward 
the moat. A flight of arrows spent itself among 
the carts, and their whizzing through the air, 
followed by sharp twangs as they quivered harm- 
lessly in the wood, or, wide of their mark, stuck 
aslant in the greensward among the carts, raised 
a derisive cheer among the men under cover. 
Half way across the clearing the suppressed feeling 
[292] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


of the villeins broke out into a wild chant. Weird 
and slow, and quaintly set to a minor key, the song 
fell on the Abbey walls : 

“ Piers the Plowman was painted all bloody, 

And came in with a cross before the common people. 
And right like, in all limbs, to our Lord Jesus: 

And then called I Conscience to tell me the truth. 

‘ Is this Jesus the Jouster?’ quoth I, ‘ that Jews did to 
death, 

Or is it Piers the Plowman? — who is painted so red?’ ” 

Suddenly both the spirit and the chant changed, 
as though over the keyboard of tragedy a subtle 
hand had drawn a deeper and a fuller stop. From 
a minor, the song swung into a major key. With 
wild enthusiasm, backed by a thrilling volume of 
sound, the Miller’s chant broke forth from among 
the carts, as they slowly approached the moat. 

“ John the Miller he hath ground small, small, small, 
The King’s Son of heaven he shall pay for all. 

Beware, or ye be woe, 

Know your friend from your foe. 

Have enough, and say ‘ho!’ 

And do well, and better flee sin, 

And seek peace and hold therein. 

And so bid John Trueman and all his fellows.” 

“A murrain on your damned Miller,” cried Dean 
Fletcher, stepping out on the walk above the gate. 
“A millstone about your leathery necks shall you 
all have, and that right soon!” 

The waspy whiz of an arrow cut short the impre- 
cation, and the Dean sprang to cover, bearing with 
him a slit through his hood as hardy evidence of 
Russet’s good markmanship. 

[293] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Half a dozen green archers stepped out upon the 
parapet, intent upon retaliation. “Twang! Twang! 
Twang!’’ from under and among the carts! Two 
of the archers lurched forward over the low parapet, 
and their bodies thudded on the pavement below. 
Their fellows scurried after the Dean to cover, and 
a cheer from the villeins ended the Miller’s chant 
among the carts like a strange “Amen.’’ 

The front row of carts was now close to the moat, 
near to the upraised drawbridge, and Dean Fletcher 
was beside himself with rage. As the cart but one 
nearest the bridge came to the edge of the moat, 
the Dean stood stock still, transfixed with what he 
saw. Under cover of the cart nearest the bridge, 
the villeins pushed the second cart into the moat, 
and its ballast promptly sank it, so that the top 
of the faggots rested almost level with the bank. 
Then, apparently of its own accord, the next cart 
wheeled into the moat over its predecessor. Cart 
after cart the villeins cleverly pushed thus into the 
moat, until a solid bridge of faggots spanned from 
shore to shore, and from the ample shelter of the 
carts still remaining on dry land the villeins raised 
cheer after cheer. To vent his rage Dean Fletcher 
stepped to a loophole and shot an arrow with force 
enough to have transfixed two men, but the shaft 
merely splintered idly in a wheel, as though it 
would mock its ecclesiastical archer, who so far 
forgot himself as to punctuate his disgust with a 
good round oath. 

The last cart had not fully settled into its place 

[294] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


when Martin Reeve, with a dozen men hard at his 
heels, dashed across the faggot bridge — the closeness 
of the bridge to the walls effectually screening the 
men from the Dean’s archers. Promptly Martin led 
his men under the drawbridge, and shortly their 
axes rang out on the woodwork underneath the 
bridge. Presently, with a deafening crash, the 
bridge fell into its place across the moat, amid 
cries of rage from within and of triumph from 
without. La Rue charged across the bridge while 
it yet trembled, a full hundred men at his heels, 
shouting and brandishing their weapons. Through 
a flight of arrows they gained the gateway in a dash 
for the enclosure, which was plainly in sight. 
Suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, the port- 
cullis crashed to the pavement, pinioning two bun- 
dles of writhing russet, bespattering the floor with 
warm slippery blood, and missing La Rue himself 
only by a miracle. 

La Rue turned to his men. “ Bring up the load 
of dry faggots,” he cried. Presently, the loaded 
cart was pushed close to the portcullis. Flint 
and steel speedily set the faggots afire. The 
draught sucked the flames through the portcullis, 
and made of the archway a huge chimney through 
which smoke and flames poured into the garth. 
The Dean massed his men for the defense of the 
gate, and prepared for the rush which he knew 
would follow as soon as the flames had eaten 
through the portcullis. 

In the meanwhile, under cover of the excitement 

[295] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


incident to the fire, Brother Barr had led a company 
of men to the rear of the Abbey, with ladders to 
scale the wall. Presently a wild cry — on the one 
hand a shout of victory, and on the other a bitter 
wail of despair, arose within the Abbey. A score 
of monks ran pellmell to Dean Fletcher at the gate. 

“They are in! The villeins are in, and they are 
burning the Abbey!” they cried. 

This new peril in the rear transfigured Dean 
Fletcher with the full spirit of Mars. With his 
fingers he blew a shrill whistle, the effect of which 
on Lincoln green was nothing short of marvelous. 
Wherever they were and whatever they were doing, 
forthwith the green archers rallied to the Dean by 
the fountain. Dean Fletcher led his archers and 
his monks in a furious charge across the garth, till 
they came upon Brother Barr’s men fighting among 
the graves at the rear of the enclosure. Then came 
the shock of battle, with no intervening walls to 
aid assailants or assailed. It was man to man, and 
blow for blow, the passion and lust for war fanned 
to fiercer heat by personal contact of antagonist 
with antagonist, — a hot contest of strength and 
fury and frenzy, as well as of skill in personal 
encounter. Barr’s insurgents were picked men of 
bill and bow, and withal, they were well armed. 
On many a French field most of them had had their 
baptism of fire. They halted the Dean’s charge, 
and gradually fought him and his men backward. 

Then did the wily Dean change his tactics. He 
scattered his men for cover into the surrounding 
[296] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


buildings. From these coigns of vantage the green 
archers and the monks showered their arrows upon 
the insurgents with such deathly effect that Brother 
Barr’s victory was checked. For a while neither 
party scored advantage. But the sun glided a 
couple of hours toward the west, and, as the Dean 
was really fighting for time, the advantage was 
distinctly his, and he moistened his lips in satis- 
faction, the while he fought and waited. 

The fight at the rear of the Abbey had left the 
Gate House without adequate defense, and it was 
here that Guilbert de Rouen turned back the tide of 
the Dean’s victory. While the Dean was busy with 
Brother Barr, Guilbert ordered the remnant of the 
fire to be dragged away from the portcullis, and 
into its place the villeins blithely pushed a tall 
load of green faggots. From the top of the faggots, 
Ralph Shepherd and a companion scaled the para- 
pet above the gate. Thence the door was open to 
the windlass of the portcullis. The two men turned 
the ponderous machinery, and their eager friends 
below watched the portcullis slowly rise in its 
grooves. Then with a wild cry of triumph the tide 
of war surged into the cloister garth. 

From the porch of the Abbot’s House, whence he 
was directing the defense, Dean Fletcher heard the 
triumphant yell, followed immediately by the tramp 
of many feet upon the pavement. For a moment 
he was paralyzed. He cast a nervous glance at the 
shadows, to note the hour of the sun. Then he blew 
his strange whistle again. When his green archers 

[297] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


had closed about him, he led monk and yeoman in 
a dash for the Chapter House. Once inside, the 
monks closed the ponderous doors, and made secu- 
rity doubly secure by dropping into their places the 
stout iron bars. 

La Rue set a strong guard to watch the Chapter 
House, and the rest of the villeins scattered over 
the Abbey in search of food and plunder. 

The Dwarf appeared before Martin Reeve, who 
was eating a mutton pasty as he sat on a stone 
bench in a corner of the cloister. 

“ Come, ” said the Dwarf, waving his hand toward 
the Deanery. 

“Have a bite!” Martin answered, generously 
halving the pasty. The Dwarf grinned, and fell 
upon his share of the feast. They had not swal- 
lowed the last mouthful, when the Dwarf led the 
way into the Dean’s house. They found the house 
empty, and the chest by the bed securely locked. 
Martin looked at the Dwarf quizzically, as though 
to say, “What next?” 

By way of answer, the Dwarf swung his axe upon 
the chest, once, twice, — a dozen times in sharp 
rhythmic succession, and then the Dean’s treasure 
box lay open. The chest proved to be all but 
empty. 

“ ’Tis in the locker,” the Dwarf muttered to 
Martin. But he ran his hand among the contents 
of the locker without coming upon the object of 
his search. 

“There is a secret drawer,” he muttered unto 
[298] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


himself. But his fingers failed to touch the hidden 
spring. Again he swung his axe, this time splin- 
tering the locker, and at the third blow the secret 
drawer flew wide open. But, alas! the drawer was 
empty ! 

“Saint Satan!” exclaimed the Dwarf, as he sat 
upon the bed by Martin. 

His countenance was so woe-begone that Martin 
cried, “Cheer up, old fellow!” and slapped him on 
the back, with apparently but little effect, for the 
Dwarf still sat in a brown study. 

Suddenly the Dwarf sprang to his feet, and shot 
out of doors, Martin following hard after him, 
laughing and exclaiming under his breath, “The 
queer misshapen spitfire! Where next? Hades, I 
reckon!” 

The Dwarf made straight for the muniment room. 
The villeins were swarming about the closed door 
like angry bees. The Dwarf stood a moment 
wrapped in thought. Presently, he made straight 
for a young elm that grew upon the garth, and a 
crowd of villeins followed at his heels, divining that 
his movements were likely to solve the difficulty of 
the bolted and barred door. His axe rang out on the 
tree, and when the tree was felled, a dozen axes 
lopped off its branches close to the bole. Forty 
stalwarts seized the tree and bore it off to the muni- 
ment room, where the Dwarf mounted a low wall, 
and from that coign of vantage directed the move- 
ments of the men. 

“One! Two! Ready! Go! — One! Two! Ready! 

[299] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Go! — One! Two! Ready! Go!” cried the Dwarf, 
slowly, motioning with his hands and body. As 
he gave the word, the butt of the elm battered 
against the door, blow after blow, steady, ponderous, 
and with cumulative effect, accompanied by the 
lusty cheers of the villeins. 

Through the labors of four shifts of men, in an 
hour’s time the massive door was battered down. 
Then followed an awful pandemonium of vandalism. 
Amid the wildest confusion, every man carried 
from the building whatever he could lay his hands 
upon, and bore his plunder to the garth, where he 
threw it on the huge bonfire which the villeins had 
kindled. 

The Dwarf and Martin gained the inside of the 
muniment room, and the ladder immediately caught 
the Dwarf’s eye. It was just as Dean Fletcher had 
left it. “Hold the ladder,” he shouted in Martin’s 
ear. “Don’t let the fools kick it from under me!” 
Martin nodded, and the Dwarf mounted to the 
ceiling. He ran his hand among the recesses at 
the top of the stack, and out of the fourth hole 
drew the stolen Manor House will! Very quickly 
he descended the ladder, almost beside himself with 
joy. He halted at the door long enough to identify 
the parchment, Martin looking on curiously over 
his shoulder. 

“This will roast the Dean’s goose,” exclaimed the 
Dwarf, and Martin chuckled. Then in great leaps 
and bounds, waving the parchment triumphantly 
in the air, as though it were a signal flag, highly 
[ 300 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

intoxicated with the successful termination of his 
long quest, the Dwarf ran across the garth to the 
crackling fire, and tossed the precious document 
onto the pile. Then, like two foolish children, 
the Dwarf and Martin joined hands, and swung 
into the circle of hilarious ignorant vandals who 
danced about the destroying fire as though it were 
a Maypole on a village green. 

Suddenly, like a flash of lightning out of a clear 
sky, the Dean and his green archers broke through 
the circle of dancers, stretching half a dozen of 
them upon the sward. In the twinkling of an eye, 
the Dean himself snatched the smoked and scorched 
parchment out of the fire and rescuing from the 
flames at the same time a rare copy of Boccaccio, 
turned to fight his way back. 

By this time the villeins had rallied. La Rue and 
Brother Barr rushed upon the scene, and there 
ensued a hand-to-hand conflict, in which sheer 
weight of numbers pushed the Dean and his men 
toward the Chapter House. Half a dozen times the 
Dean himself was down. His face and habit were 
stained with blood, and there was a look on his 
face which was not good to see. Thrice Martin 
Reeve shot at the fighting Dean at short range, but 
not an arrow stuck even in his habit. 

“ ’Tis fell magic!” Martin exclaimed, as the 
Dean stood, unharmed, on the top step by the 
Chapter House door, triumphantly waving the 
charred will a moment before his comrades drew 
him inside, and then bolted and barred the door. 

[301 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

Until evening the villeins held the Dean prisoner 
in the Chapter House. Then suddenly the Sher- 
iff’s horn winded loud and clear from the wood. 
The effect was magic. Promptly the villeins beat 
a hasty retreat across the garth, through the Gate 
House, and over the moat, where, like silent shad- 
ows, they disappeared in the edge of the forest. 

Not less strangely did the Sheriff’s horn effect the 
Dean’s green archers. From the half dozen green 
dead the Dean himself promptly stripped their 
outer green garments. Every archer also promptly 
divested himself of Lincoln green, and, appearing 
in russet, mingled with the villeins as they disap- 
peared from the Abbey, and so were lost to sight. 


[302] 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE TURN OF A FAR-EBBED TIDE 















. 









/ 



















































CHAPTER XX 


THE TURN OF A FAR-EBBED TIDE 

IN WHICH THE SINGULAR EXERCISE OF A GREAT 
HEART BY GUILBERT DE ROUEN COMPLICATES 
THAT GOOD MAN’S AFFAIRS, AND THREATENS 
THE DEAN OF THORNTON WITH DISASTER; AND 
THE END OF THE DAY’S PERIL IS NOT YET IN 
SIGHT 

During the fight within the Abbey, when Dean 
Fletcher and his green archers were shut up in 
the Chapter House, shortly after the Dean had 
won back the stolen will, there came upon Guilbert 
a natural reaction from the stress of the conflict. 
To his sober sense the People’s Cause seemed 
further from triumph in this hour of victory than 
it did when russet priests simply preached the 
Brotherhood in barns and midnight conventicles. 
Physical weariness may have been the foundation 
of the revulsion that sobered him, or it may be that 
it was merely his fundamental peace-loving self, 
coming to its own again after the fierce turmoil 
of the day. Almost wishing the attack had not 
been made, or that it had been less successful, 
with the stream of hungry villeins he drifted toward 
the Refectory. A builder by instinct, he hated 
to see these sons of destruction let loose among 
centuries of slow achievement in brick and stone, 

[305] 


20 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

even though he was in complete sympathy with 
the underlying spirit that set their hands to tear 
and destroy. 

Hilarity in the Refectory touched Guilbert’s 
sense of humor, and set him right again with him- 
self and the world. The boisterous spirit of the 
Abbot of Misrule had laid hold on the laity whose 
feet were under the monks’ table, and whose 
fingers were literally in the monks’ pie. Mine 
host of the Saracen’s Head occupied the Abbot’s 
chair at the head of one board, and in the Dean’s 
accustomed place at the head of the other long 
table sat Martin Reeve; each in a posture of 
mock dignity, gravely endeavoring to reduce to 
order the riotous laity who occupied the canons’ 
places all a-down the board. 

“My master Dean,” quoth the burly Abbot, as 
Guilbert came in at the door, “ ’tis time that you 
should say grace. Quiet you, rusty brethren mine, 
while the Dean says grace!” 

“Say grace yourself, you lazy lout,” the uncan- 
onical Dean shouted back. “Display less igno- 
rance when you speak, or keep your mouth forever 
shut. Everybody knows that ’tis the Abbot’s 
place to say grace. That’s just what he’s for, and 
all he’s for ! ’ ’ The board yelled nonpartisan encour- 
agement to both disputants. 

“Nay, you do but show a yellow pup’s pedigree 
when thus you speak,” retorted the pseudo- Abbot, 
above the babel of laughter. “Stand you up in 
your place, and say grace for these hungry diners, 
[306] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


or, by the good St. Julian, we’ll send you on the 
long journey,” — and he arose, pretending the while 
that he would go over to the Dean’s table to enforce 
with his poniard his interpretation of Abbotly 
authority. 

Which of the hilarious twain would, in the end, 
have said grace, or whether either would have gone 
so far as to profane that priestly function, may 
not be known, for Guilbert cried, “Fall to, my merry 
men. There’s more to do. Eat and run!” And 
Russet the more readily obeyed Guilbert’s com- 
mand, in that it was too hungry to enjoy humor 
were it too fine, or too prolonged. 

Guilbert hastily washed down the leg of a capon 
with a horn of Abbey brew, and passed out to 
note conditions in the enclosure. The Chapter 
House was securely sealed with a cordon of watchers 
and for the first time since the attack began Guil- 
bert took a moment’s rest. He sat down on a 
stone bench in the south cloister. 

A resting body may well denote an active mind. 
Guilbert’s thoughts sped far a-field, wondering 
what might follow the day’s adventure, until his 
eye happened to rest upon the steps leading to the 
portico of the Abbot’s house. Abbot Thomas! 
Strange that he had not thought of him during 
the day. Weightier matters had crowded out of 
his mind the quest imposed by Heloise, and en- 
forced by the Keelby witch. He would forthwith 
espy how cosily the Dean had ensconced himself 
in his absent enemy’s house. It might be that 
[ 307 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he would thereby discover some cue to the Abbot’s 
whereabouts. 

Guilbert crossed the garth toward the Abbot’s 
house, and as he passed he spoke cheerily to the 
men guarding the Chapter House, thereby encour- 
aging them to faithful watch. As he stepped on 
to the portico of the Abbot’s House, he noticed 
that the front door of the house was broken down, 
and debris of the conflict lay scattered about. But, 
strange to say, there was no evidence that there 
had been a struggle inside the house. Evidently, 
there had been no defense from within. The 
party that had battered the door had evidently 
found the house empty. How strange that Dean 
Fletcher had made no defense of his newly acquired 
residence ! 

Guilbert passed into the hall. A confusion of 
foot marks in the dust near the door, but extending 
no farther inward, indicated that the men who had 
broken open the Abbot’s House had found it unin- 
habited, and had therefore turned back toward the 
conflict in the cloisters. Guilbert’s curiosity was 
becoming aroused. He explored the Abbot’s par- 
lor and sitting room. Floor and furniture were 
dust-covered, but undisturbed. The house was 
deserted, and Guilbert’s footfall echoed almost 
uncannily in the corridor. Not a thing appeared 
to have been touched since the Abbot had left. 

It seemed strange to Guilbert that the Dean had 
not taken possession of the Abbot’s House. Was 
it a touch of admirable modesty that kept the Dean 
[308] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


out of the Abbot’s residence until he should actually 
have become Abbot? Meditating on the strange 
situation, Guilbert crossed the hall into the kitchen. 
No evidence of life showed there. He opened the 
kitchen door leading into the corridor. It was in 
his mind to glance into the Abbot’s bedroom, and 
then away to — 

Strange! very strange! — there was no bedroom 
door! Instead of the door he saw only solid stone 
and mortar! How strange! How very strange! 
Guilbert had been through that door into the 
Abbot’s bedroom scores of times while he had 
been at work at the Abbey. Yes, and there, now, 
before his very eyes, the fluted archway of the old 
door stood out flush with the wall, while within 
the arch was new masonry! What could it mean? 
Why had the door been changed? Probably, either 
the Abbot or the Dean had changed the door from 
the corridor to the sitting room. Yes, that would 
be all right! A very good change! It would cer- 
tainly be more convenient to enter the bedroom 
from the sitting room than from the corridor. 
But Guilbert wondered why he had not heard of 
the change; why, in fact, he had not been called 
upon to make the change. 

His interest in the matter having been aroused, 
Guilbert determined to examine the workmanship 
of the new door. For that purpose he passed down 
the corridor into the sitting room. No change 
appeared there! He pushed aside the arras the 
whole length of the wall that divided the sitting 

[309] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


room from the bedroom. No opening was there! 
Then, slowly and painfully, the possibility of the 
whole foul, damnable truth dawned upon his 
mind! 

“The sleek, cruel, crafty devil,” Guilbert mut- 
tered between set teeth, as he sank into a settee, 
weak from the sudden vision of the Dean’s possible 
crime. “To think that ambition and hatred should 
sink to such infernal warfare!” 

It was but a moment that Guilbert sat there, 
breathing in quick nervous gasps, and clutching 
an arm of the settee. Memory opened to him a 
door of action. In a flash he remembered his 
encounter with the Dean in the wood. Almost as 
audibly as though they were again spoken, the 
Dean’s words came back to Guilbert — “When the 
stone walls of Thornton shout their secrets in 
the public ear.” 

“My God!” cried Guilbert. “That is it! ‘Stone 
walls, and secrets!’ Oh, the damnable wretch! 
By the Eternal, the walls shall shout their secret 
in the public ear!” 

Guilbert was on his feet now, breathing hard 
and deep, resolute, every nerve tense, and defiant 
of the Dean and his evil machinations. With the 
recollection of the Dean’s hot words had oppor- 
tunely come the memory of the secret passage 
from the south transept to the Abbot’s House, 
which he had accidentally discovered a year ago. 

“ ’Tis a Providence!” he said, as he arose to go. 
A few long quick strides carried Guilbert back 
[310] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


to the portico, where the surge of war met his eye 
and ear. The siege of the Chapter House was in 
full progress, and occasional shafts from either 
party made the intervening space debatable and 
dangerous ground. Guilbert beckoned to Martin 
Reeve, and that sturdy retainer elbowed his way 
through the crowd, till Guilbert met him at the 
south cloister porch of the church with the words, 
“Go tell La Rue to keep a steady eye on the Chap- 
ter House. We’ll burn the black crows in their 
nest, yet. Then come back to me here as quickly 
as you can.” 

Martin opened wide his eyes at the passionate 
fire that had taken possession of Guilbert, so unlike 
the usual quiet self-possession of the man, and then 
he promptly ran upon his errand. 

Guilbert ascended the belfry tower, and found 
there a torch in the same ring that had yielded 
one to his hand a year ago. When Martin returned, 
Guilbert was standing at the foot of the stairway, 
the trap door open, about to take the first steps 
of the descent into the subterranean darkness. 

“Go we down to Hell?” queried Martin, not with- 
out a strong touch of apprehension, to the humor of 
which the honest fellow was entirely oblivious. 

“It may be! But come! You have your pon- 
iard? Come,” repeated Guilbert, and he led the 
way down the steps. There was naught for Martin 
to do but follow. Crossing himself devoutly to 
forfend any evil that might be immanent, Martin 
plunged after the flickering torch into the darkness. 

[311] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


In the passage Guilbert’s mind worked quickly 
and with great intensity. The Dean’s sneering 
taunt came back to him with tremendous force. 
Why should he, of all men, trouble himself about 
the absent Abbot? But the suggestion fell far 
short of being a temptation, and he pushed on his 
quest without an instant’s hesitation. Perhaps 
the Abbot was dead. In all probability he was 
dead. The thought quickened Guilbert’s pace, for 
were the Abbot alive, every minute was precious. 
Guilbert had taken a wrong turn in the passage. 
He retraced his steps with haste, and turned 
eagerly in the right direction. He almost ran, so 
eager was he to reach his dismal goal. Then the 
Dean surged into his mind, and Guilbert clutched 
the torch vengefully and hurried on. It had gone 
ill with the Dean had Guilbert met him in the 
passage. It seemed good to Guilbert to have it in 
his power to checkmate the wicked man, and, dead 
or alive, the resurrection of the Abbot would cer- 
tainly expose the Dean’s crime. 

Then, like the brush of an angel’s wing, came 
the memory of Heloise’s appeal to him in behalf 
of the missing Abbot. He was now upon her 
quest, and his love for Heloise seemed to shed 
light in, and to sweeten the subterranean passage. 
With his mind a-fire, he threaded the tortuous 
passage, expecting shortly to step into the Abbot’s 
sealed tomb. Then a great dread fell upon him. 
He staggered, and leaned against the wall — the 
adventure was so impossible, and so ghostly. 

[312] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The uncanny aspect of the venture old Martin 
had felt from the first, though he was ignorant of 
the facts which lay behind Guilbert’s actions. 
Prodigiously perplexed, Martin made sundry silent 
appeals to the entire calendar of saints, as he 
followed Guilbert step by step, like the faithful 
soldier that he was. He held himself ready for 
any emergency, and crossed himself at frequent 
intervals, halting his devotions long enough at 
times to hurl appropriate imprecations toward the 
foe in the Chapter House, at the Dean who had 
again gotten possession of the Manor House deed and 
against all who impeded Brotherhood in the land. 

At length Guilbert found and lifted the trap. 
There was little or no draught this time to endanger 
the torch. The air in the chamber was as close as 
that in the passage, and had an added fetid taint, 
which Guilbert did not stop to identify. To all 
appearance the room was as deserted as the rest 
of the house. Save for a faint light that haunted 
the narrow splay near the ceiling, the flickering 
torch in Guilbert’s hand was the only light the 
room contained. Before the advent of the torch 
the room must have been wrapped in the gloom of 
the tomb, with Death haunting it like a Presence. 
With a feeling of impotent rage Guilbert noted 
the outline of the window showing distinctly around 
the fresh masonry. That fact confirmed his theory 
of foul play. The door of the bedroom was 
closed, and when, a moment later, Guilbert tried 
the knob, the door proved to be locked. 

[ 313 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

It took but a moment for these details to fix 
themselves in Guilbert’s mind. Guilbert was com- 
ing to his feet now, and Martin was clambering 
out of the trap door close behind him, his eyes wide 
with astonishment at this queer and unexpected 
termination of the passage. Guilbert searched 
the floor with his eye, and was astonished to find 
no trace of the Abbot. He wondered whether the 
Abbot had escaped down the subway, or whether 
after all, Dean Fletcher had halted short of the 
actual immuration of his rival. But why, then, 
the bricked up door and window? 

Guilbert was beginning to feel some slight sense 
of relief from the bare possibility that the latter 
view might be correct, when Martin pulled his 
sleeve. Guilbert turned nervously, for the situa- 
tion had in it enough of the uncanny to touch the 
most steady nerves. Martin, sturdy seasoned man- 
at-arms though he was, was trembling like an aspen. 
His face was ashen, his eyes bulged, his mouth was 
wide open, and his index finger pointed dramati- 
cally over the foot of the bed. “There! Look! 
O! My God!” were the only words that escaped his 
lips, and these he whispered hoarsely. 

Guilbert’s eyes followed the index of Martin’s 
finger. There on the bed lay a disordered pile of 
crumpled clothing curled into a circular heap, much 
in the shape of a dog that had made his bed in the 
grass. 

The strange sight chilled Guilbert, but it also 
thrilled him. Very quietly he stepped to the side 

[314] 



Finding the Abbott. 





































































































































- 

































THE GREEN DEVIL 


of the bed, moving lightly as in the presence of the 
dead. He lifted a fold of the clothing, which 
happened to be the hood of the Abbot’s gown, and 
the torch flickered on the pale, emaciated, shrunken 
face of Abbot Thomas. Strange was it that the 
face was not discolored. Decomposition had not 
yet set in. Not long, then, had the Abbot been 
dead. Guilbert reached a steel mirror that lay 
on the table by the water jug, and when he had 
wiped the dust from it with his sleeve, he held 
it close to the dead man’s lips, scrutinizing it closely 
the while. A faint dimness gathered upon the 
polished surface! The fact put life into Guilbert’s 
actions. ‘'Bring water, quick!” he exclaimed, the 
passion for saving life full upon him. 

A moment later the dreadful empty, hollow 
sound from the water jug, and then from the ewer, 
as Martin handled them, told Guilbert that they 
contained no water. Long ago the Abbot had 
drained the last drop. Guilbert ground his teeth. 
“We must bear him out to light and air,” said he. 

Now that there was something to do for what 
appeared to be flesh and blood, the uncanny feeling 
departed from Martin Reeve. While Martin busied 
himself arranging the Abbot for the journey down the 
subway, Guilbert had time to note that the candle 
had burnt down into the socket before the crucifix 
on the table, and that the Abbot’s Breviary lay open 
on the bed at, “A Prayer for the Forsaken and Dy- 
ing.” If the Abbot had gone on the long journey, 
he had taken the stirrup cup from the Breviary, and 

[315] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


had started out under the forms and sanctions of the 
great church of which Dean Fletcher and his world- 
ing monks were most unworthy members. 

The nature of their burden and the need for 
extra care made the passage down the subway 
slow and difficult. Guilbert took care to close both 
traps, and to enjoin secrecy upon Martin, both as 
to the existence of the subway and as to the events 
in which he had taken part. When they came to 
daylight with their burden the fire was still blazing 
on the garth, and the villeins were celebrating their 
emancipation from serfdom in their Maypole dance. 

Guilbert sped Martin for trusty help, and shortly 
the bowman returned with Ralph Shepherd and 
another retainer of the Manor House. They 
constructed a litter of banner staves which Martin 
foraged from the Sacristy, and bore the Abbot 
down the nave, through the western door, out 
between the avenue of young elms, and so on 
through the New Gate House to the woods beyond. 
Those who noted the party at all thought that 
they carried a wounded man to the rear, and passed 
on, asking no questions. When they came to the 
brook Guilbert dashed water into the Abbot’s 
face. At the shock the Abbot opened his eyes a 
moment, and a faint moan escaped him. Guilbert 
forced a little water between his lips, and moving 
on, halted not until he had borne the Abbot into 
the Manor House. Then the Sheriff’s horn winded 
from the south, and Guilbert knew that the Sheriff 
and his men were drawing nigh. 

[3i6] 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A PRISONER OF VENGEANCE 





CHAPTER XXI 


A PRISONER OF VENGEANCE 

WHICH MAKES DUE RECORD OF A NOTABLE ARREST, 
AND SETS FORTH HOW A CERTAIN DUNGEON 
BECAME A FIELD WHEREON TWO MEN CON- 
TENDED WITHOUT THE LETTING OF BLOOD, AND 
NEITHER ANTAGONIST GAINED A SIGNAL VICTORY 

With mighty strides, Guilbert de Rouen recrossed 
the courtyard, and walked toward the drawbridge, 
having left the Abbot in the great hall of the Manor 
House. Martin Reeve and his two companions 
followed close at Guilbert’ s heels. 

“Halt men! Stay you here!” commanded Guil- 
bert, turning upon the three. “No need that you 
should help to bulge the Sheriff’s net!” 

Martin doffed his cap, awkwardly, and said: 
“You stay, too, captain. The day’s well lost. 
You’re worth more than a hundred men of russet.” 

“Nay! Nay!” answered Guilbert, promptly dis- 
posing of both Martin’s temptation and his appre- 
ciation. 

“Then go we back with you! When the Sheriff 
bags you, we will bear you company,” retorted 
Martin doggedly. 

“By thunder! No!” answered Guilbert, simu- 
lating anger. “I command you to stay to guard the 
Manor House. After I have helped the villeins 

[319] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


to scatter, I will return. Stay you here — I com- 
mand you, soldier to soldier.” 

Under his breath, old Martin swore a round 
oath. Then the three reluctantly turned to go, 
and Martin muttered to himself, “ ’Twere worth 
a mutiny, to save such a man. But, ’tis like him 
to have his own way! He’ll land on his feet — at 
the resurrection, if not before!” 

Guilbert crossed to the pump at the corner of 
the courtyard. There he drank deeply, then he 
doused his face and hands with the cold water, 
and dried himself with a rough towel that hung 
on the wall close by. 

When Guilbert raised himself to go, Heloise was 
half way across the yard, running to intercept him. 

“Guilbert!” she called, her voice tense with 
conflicting emotions. “You must not go out again. 
Stay here with — us.” 

Guilbert stood a moment, looking her full in the 
face. Then, slowly and impressively, he spoke 
one word — “Duty!” 

“Your friends forbid you to sacrifice yourself 
for a lost cause,” she answered, and immediately 
added, with a little sob in her voice, “From the 
upper windows I can see that the woods are full of 
the Sheriff’s men.” 

She stood at her full height, and her voice ap- 
pealed to him subtly. He read the gravel at his 
feet. Then he answered, looking steadily into her 
face, “My friends are great enough, and good enough 
not to try to thwart me in my duty.” 

[320] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Heloise winced; then her face suffused with a 
subtle pleasure. Guilbert turned toward the wood. 
A company of villeins ran down the road in great 
disorder, and scurried to cover in the brush. 

“Like sheep are they scattered,” he said, simply. 
“And they have no shepherd. I must shepherd 
them.” Deep emotion rendered his voice solemn, 
and tears stood in Heloise’s eyes. Guilbert took 
Heloise’s hand, and raised it reverently to his lips. 
“Farewell, lady,” he said. “I will return, when 
I have done my best for these poor fellows who 
trusted in me.” 

He turned upon his heel, and strode across the 
drawbridge into the road that led to the forest. 
Heloise turned toward the house, a strange light 
in her eyes. “There is a man!” she said to herself 
as she went indoors. She passed directly into the 
hall to help the household care for Abbot Thomas. 

Half way to the Abbey, Guilbert found the 
road blocked with a confused mass of villeins. 
They proved to be Martin Reeve’s nondescript 
veterans, and when they recognized Guilbert the 
crowd opened to receive him, and raised a mighty 
cheer. 

“Lead us!” they cried. “Lead us against the 
Sheriff! We’ll wipe him out!” Cries of “Crecy!” 
and “Poitiers!” echoed through the woods. 

For a moment Guilbert was almost ready to 
respond to the challenge. What might not be 
possible, even yet, with such a body of resolute 
men ! But, presently his better judgment prevailed. 

[321 ] 


21 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Nay! Nay, men! Nay!” he cried, as he 
mounted a fallen tree. “ ’Tis no use. The day is 
lost. Our men are scattered, and we have no 
support. Should we win here, we would lose 
everywhere else. Where the leaders are, the 
Devil only knows! To fight now were but to make 
a useless sacrifice of life. Therefore, disperse — 
every one of you! Melt away into the woods. 
Let not two of you be seen together. Go! As 
fast, and as far, and in as many directions as you 
can!” 

Obedient to an imperious outward motion of 
Guilbert’s arms, the men scattered into the thick 
underbrush, and shortly they were lost to sight. 

At that very instant, from opposite directions, 
two bodies of horse thundered down the road, and 
before Guilbert realized the situation, he was sur- 
rounded and was a prisoner. 

“I shall need your sword, Guilbert de Rouen,” 
said the captain of the troop, spurring to where 
Guilbert stood. 

“De Courcey!” exclaimed Guilbert. “I could 
yield to no better man!” but he bit his lip until the 
blood showed red, as he unhooked his sword from 
his belt, and handed it to De Courcey. 

“Scour the woods!” the captain commanded 
his troop. “ ’Tis not so dusk but that you may 
gather in some of these rascals.” He turned in 
his saddle, and continued to those close about him, 
“Half-a-dozen of you follow me, to escort the 
prisoner to the Abbey.” 

[322] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

Presently, De Courcey and his prisoner appeared 
on the garth at the Abbey, where the Sheriff, having 
just arrived, stood talking with Dean Fletcher, 
amid the debris of the fight. 

4 ‘Now! By the Holy Mother of God, what have 
we here — a prisoner?” shouted the Sheriff. A 
moment later he continued: “Let that man go, 
De Courcey! He’s no villein, but a good loyal 
gentleman, as I myself can testify. It’s russet, 
man, we are alter, not linen and silk. Know better 
than to arrest Guilbert De Rouen. Let go I say!” 

His captors obeyed, and for a moment Guilbert 
stood a pace or two apart, his eye ranging between 
De Courcey and the smiling Dean who stood close 
by the Sheriff. 

“But we found him consorting with Russet, and 
directing the escape of the worst of them,” pro- 
tested De Courcey stoutly. 

The newly lighted torches illuminated the face 
of a very well satisfied Dean! He smiled, and 
his tongue shot forth to moisten his lips. He could 
not forbear rubbing his hands together, so accom- 
modating were the fates! There was a vicious 
gleam in his eye, but his voice was even and natural, 
as he spoke. 

“That man, Sir Sheriff, is not loyal! I fear me 
he’s a traitor to his class,” he said. 

The Sheriff looked incredulous, and the Dean 
continued, “Oh! You don’t know! But I do! 
All day long have I seen him leading the villeins 
against the Abbey. But for him they would 

[323] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


have been as flies against our walls. Why, see 
you! On his face are marks of blood. Also his 
hands are smeared with blood. Let that man 
go, Sir Sheriff, and there will be trouble! An I 
mistake not, the king would pay a good round price 
for his head after today! Put him in the Abbey 
dungeon for safe keep, and I will shortly provide 
you with evidence of his guilt.” 

The Dean’s voice rose as he talked, and grew 
tense with bitter feeling. When he finished, the 
note and attitude of command were so positive 
that De Courcey forgot that the Sheriff was in 
command, and acted on the Dean’s order. He 
motioned to his men, who again laid hold upon 
Guilbert, and, following Brother Geoffrey, who 
at the opportune moment had appeared upon the 
scene, they led their prisoner to the Abbey dungeon. 

As the heavy bossed door of the dungeon closed 
upon Guilbert, St. John surreptitiously thrust a 
candle into his hand. When the door was shut and 
locked, Guilbert struck a light, using the Palmer’s 
tinder-box. The candle revealed four smooth, 
bare, stone walls. A small, heavily barred, splay 
window, high in the wall, showed that the walls 
were full six feet thick. A solid stone bench, 
built into one side of the cell, was meant to serve 
the purpose of a bed, as was indicated by the fact 
that a thin pallet and a coverlet were folded on it 
ready to be spread for use. A wooden stool and 
a small rough table were all the furniture the cell 
contained. The floor of the cell was one huge 

[324] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


slab, solid as the earth itself. The heavy door 
opened outward, without knob, handle or lock 
on the inside to encourage the faintest hope that 
it might be forced. 

Guilbert fully appreciated the gravity of the 
situation. With folded arms he paced back and 
forth in his cell, first one diagonal, then the other, 
striding many aimless, useless miles, without the 
sense of weariness. The ultimate outcome of the 
revolt that had failed was not difficult to see. With 
a shudder Guilbert recalled the orgy of blood that 
had followed the failure of the Jacquerie rising 
in France, and he knew that he and his friends could 
expect nothing less ferocious in England. The 
retribution of king and nobles would be prompt 
and ruthless. Death, as well as utter defeat, stared 
Guilbert squarely in the face. But the strong stay 
not hopeless long. In a little while Guilbert ceased 
his nervous walk, and seated himself on the edge 
of the bed, a plain inventory of the elements of the 
situation occupying his mind. 

Foremost, and first to be reckoned with, was 
Dean Fletcher. The crafty Dean, Guilbert knew, 
was his real jailor. But for him Guilbert’s friend- 
ship with the Sheriff and his standing in the country 
would probably be sufficient to prevent serious 
charges from being pressed against him. A score 
of times that night did Guilbert regret the sudden 
tide of temper in which he had struck down the 
Dean in the forest. 

Amid his cogitations Guilbert suddenly sprang 

[325] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


to his feet, and a little cry of delight escaped his 
lips. Surely here was a move that would checkmate 
the Dean! In the outside world Guilbert alone 
knew of the Dean’s criminal part in the tragedy 
of Abbot Thomas. The Dean would suspend 
hostilities at once were he aware of Guilbert’s 
knowledge! At the prospect the walls of the cell 
grew less thick, and the heavy door seemed ready to 
swing open. 

Guilbert fell to planning ways to use this power- 
ful lever. A dozen clever lines of action relative 
to the Dean passed in review, candidates for adop- 
tion. But for one reason or another, Guilbert 
passed them by. Upon closer examination it did 
not seem so easy to checkmate the resourceful Dean. 
Dean Fletcher had the next move, following any 
move Guilbert might make ! All the resources 
open to the unscrupulous were at his command, 
and he would be certain to use them! The stoop- 
ing figure of Dean Fletcher loomed up ever more 
formidable in Guilbert’s mind, and forced him to 
greater caution. In Guilbert’s clairvoyant vision 
of him; the sinister expression on the Dean’s 
face; the compression of his thin lips; his serpent- 
like tongue, that moistened lips which dried 
spontaneously by reason of the fever of 
evil nature; the fell determination of the man, 
the more devilish because successfully cloaked in 
the garb of religion, — these aspects of the man 
dominated the situation, and Guilbert felt himself 
helpless in the Dean’s masterful hands. It would 
[326] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


not do to corner such a man — he knew the art of 
immuration too well ! If the Dean knew that Guil- 
bert had knowledge of the part he had taken in the 
disappearance of the Abbot, — well, these walls 
were thick, and it would be easy to brick up the 
archway beyond the locked door ! Perhaps already 
the door was bricked up! Horror! The Lincoln 
assize and the hangman’s cord were preferable to 
that! Beads of sweat stood out on Guilbert’s 
brow. 

Moreover, other considerations arose. The 
problem was very difficult. Guilbert’s knowledge 
of the secret could hardly be used without dragging 
the name of Heloise further through the mire of 
public scandal. Guilbert disbelieved the waggings 
of the public tongue, and did not doubt the inno- 
cency both of the Abbot and of Heloise, but he 
was well aware of the ease with which appearances 
may be made to accuse the best and holiest charac- 
ters. Moreover the Dean was in a position to 
create whatever evidence might be needed to 
discredit Abbot Thomas, or Heloise, or indeed, 
Guilbert himself. Then again, the Abbot might 
die. If so, Guilbert’s chief witness would be gone! 
Indeed it was not at all likely that the Abbot would 
recover. Possibly, nay, very probably, he was 
dead already! In the intricate maze which cir- 
cumstances had set for his feet, it behooved Guilbert 
to exercise great caution. 

It was Guilbert’s great love for Heloise that 
finally determined him against the use of that line 
[ 327 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


of defense. Never had she seemed to him so 
great, or so good, or so altogether worthy, as now 
that the door was shut between him and her — 
perhaps forever. In his mind he raised her hand 
to his lips and kissed it reverently! He would 
not be guilty of breathing one draught of free air 
at any expense whatever unto her. If the Abbot 
survived, Guilbert would leave him to deal with 
the Dean as he pleased — and Guilbert fell to won- 
dering whether the Abbot would be as careful as 
he to shield Heloise from public scandal. 

Furthermore, it became more plain, as Guilbert 
weighed all the circumstances, that a defense which 
simply counter-charged the Dean with crime would 
not clear Guilbert of another and a different crime. 
Witnesses a-plenty would be forthcoming to prove 
that Guilbert was a prime leader in the attack 
upon the Abbey, whatever had been the Dean’s 
relationships to the Abbot, or whatever became 
either of the Dean or of the Abbot. In the end 
Guilbert resolved to face Dean Fletcher in silence, 
to stand trial as best he might, trusting to good 
fortune, and to the powerful influence of a wide 
circle of friends, to mitigate the sentence or secure 
acquittal. 

Faint signs of the midsummer dawn were invad- 
ing the cell when Guilbert fell asleep aslant the 
cot. In a fitful dream, Heloise was nursing him 
from a perilous sickness, and the Abbot was far 
away beyond Cathay, when the grating of bolts 
in the door awoke Guilbert. He was wide awake 
[ 328 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


instantly, every sense preternaturally alert, sitting 
bolt upright on the cot, and watching the door 
slowly open. He sprang to his feet, and had 
shaken the crumples of sleep from tunic and brain 
alike, before his visitor appeared in the doorway. 
He was standing in the center of the cell, cere- 
moniously, as one would receive a guest, when Dean 
Fletcher stepped over the threshold. 

But Dean Fletcher was in no humor for ceremony. 
Guilbert did not know it, but he had come thus 
early straight from the burial of the russet dead who 
in the Abbey fight had worn Lincoln green. He 
himself had read the office for the dead at the grave, 
and had left out not a syllable, but had performed 
every jot and tittle of the rite, exactly as though 
he were burying the most faithful children of the 
church! Such an unusual and early ritual seemed 
to have put the Dean out of sorts, and to have 
added to the heavy score he had to settle with 
Guilbert de Rouen. 

‘‘How came you by that candle?” the Dean broke 
in upon Guilbert’s polite reception, as his eyes fell 
upon the half-burnt dip in the stand upon the 
table. 

Possibly it was the mean sneer in the Dean’s 
voice, or it may have been the result of Guilbert’s 
knowledge of the Dean’s hypocrisy, or it may even 
have been a direct inspiration from the eternal 
fitness of things, that led Guilbert to answer, 
oracularly: “God sent it to me, to break prison 
shadows!” 


[329] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The reply startled the Dean. God was not exactly 
in his thoughts just then, and the oracular answer 
seemed so like a formal appeal to the Almighty. 
An involuntary shudder passed down the Dean’s 
spine! But he was himself in a moment, and in 
light banter he queried: “Since when, O Guilbert 
mine, were rebels and the Almighty such close 
allies? He does not seem to have helped you 
much yesterday! The gibbet’s full of carrion by 
now! I’m thinking you’ll need less ghostly help 
before long!” 

“And is it the Dean of a religious House who takes 
pains to wake me so early to decry the help of 
God? Truly, Dean Fletcher, you should take your 
religion more seriously.” 

The Dean bit his lip, and was silent a few 
moments. It certainly were well to be wary of such 
an alert antagonist. When he was ready the Dean 
parried. 

“Truly, Guilbert,” said he. “But for these incon- 
siderate walls, we might have you forth a veritable 
Wyclifite preacher! But, soft! You will need 
certain of the offices of the church — especially her 
burial service! They say ’tis very comforting as 
you mount the scaffold. ‘Earth to earth, ashes 
to ashes, dust to dust,’ is great comfort when the 
noose is itching about your neck! You will not 
need the marriage office! I may read the office 
for the dead for you myself. I rather think I will!” 

The tone of the Dean’s voice was even, and his 
banter was laden with subtle venom. Guilbert 
[ 330 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


was silent, restraining himself, remembering the 
fatal cost of a loose rein. His silence was his first 
victory. By reason of it the Dean must needs 
continue the conversation. 

“Remember you, Guilbert de Rouen, how once 
you struck an unarmed monk?” he said. 

“Unarmed!” interjected Guilbert. “The hilt 
of your poniard clearly showed as you fell over 
backward ! Nevertheless, against chivalry was that 
sudden blow, Dean Fletcher. Though I run grave 
danger of being misunderstood, I do sincerely 
apologize for that unchivalrous blow. But most 
certainly you were armed — though why a monk 
should carry arms under his habit is clear beyond 
me.” 

The Dean winced under the home thrust, and 
his hand slid stealthily to his hip. Again Guilbert 
saw the shape of a poniard beneath the Austin habit. 

The Dean continued: “That day I promised you 
that I would follow you with vengeance. No 
thought had I that your folly would so soon play 
into my hands. I expected that revenge would 
be slow, that only after long years of watching 
and waiting could I taste its sweets. But I was 
willing to wait! I was more than willing, in order 
that the debt might pile up high! But Dame For- 
tune has been kind to me! You have played your 
foolish little game, like a cocksure school boy, and 
have lost it, as all men of standing knew you would. 
Behold now, how simple Justice becomes my avenger, 
closes the door of my dungeon upon you, and makes 

[331 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


me the chief witness of your high treason! I’ll 
testify! Yes, I’ll testify! The hangman’s cord 
and the gibbet lie not far beyond that door. You’ll 
swing, Guilbert de Rouen, just as surely as you 
struck me with your fist out yonder in the forest.” 

The Dean’s manner was harsher even than his 
words. In the interest of the present, by all means 
Guilbert ought to have suppressed the words that 
sprung to his lips. But the spirit of the rapier is 
part of the spirit of man, and Guilbert flashed 
back: “I am nbt as much afraid of death as you 
ought to be, Dean Fletcher!” Then, happily, Guil- 
bert caught himself, but not before the thrust was 
well home. 

The Dean’s face went ashy white. He glanced 
furtively about the cell, and his tongue flashed 
nervously athwart his lips. But it was only for a 
moment, then the Dean burst into an unquiet 
laugh, and on the tide of it answered whimsically, 
“I who die in my bed have a better chance than you 
who die on the gallows and with your boots on!” 

Guilbert paused a while, described a circle on 
the pavement with the point of his toe, and within 
the circle traced the figure of a Greek cross. Then 
he answered, going straight to the point like an 
arrow that cleaves the mark, “Father Dauphe 
used to tell us lads at Rouen, ‘Be sure your sin will 
find you out.’ I know, Dean Fletcher, how hollow 
is the mask you wear, and I lose my guess if such 
hypocrisy does not, in the end, more than find you 
out. I leave you in the hands of a just God.” 

[ 332 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Strange as it may appear, Guilbert’s rebuke gave 
the Dean real comfort. It was so general in its 
statement and appeal, that the Dean at once jumped 
to the conclusion that Guilbert knew nothing of 
the details of his wrong-doing, and that, therefore, 
from him he had nothing to fear. Turning to go 
he remarked, “I thought it fair to warn you, Guil- 
bert de Rouen, that you could expect from me 
nothing but the fulfillment of vengeance. You 
do not cross me for naught!” 

“When the time comes, with what composure I 
can muster, Death and I will meet,” answered Guil- 
bert: “But remember this, Dean Fletcher, that in 
the end both of us will stand before the bar of a 
just Judge, where wrongs will be righted, and the 
whole truth about us both will be blazed forth by 
the herald of unerring Justice. Both of us bide our 
time.” 

“In the meanwhile, you’ll hang,” hissed the 
Dean. Then he passed out, and behind him the 
bolts grated back into their place. 

On the next day De Courcey escorted Guilbert 
de Rouen to the Castle at Lincoln, then to await 
the approaching assize. 


[ 333 ] 


CHAPTER XXII. CALLED BACK 






















CHAPTER XXII 


CALLED BACK 

WHICH RECORDS THE STEADY FLOW OF AN INCOMING 
TIDE, AND TELLS HOW A MAID BOUND HIS ARMOR 
ON HER KNIGHT AND SENT HIM FORTH UPON AN 
UNUSUAL QUEST 

At the Manor House Abbot Thomas lay betwixt 
life and death. Prudence determined that the 
Wellham family should keep secret the Abbot’s 
presence in the house. In these hurly-burly times 
serious consequences might follow the bruit of his 
presence there. Circumstances rendered secrecy 
easy. The men who bore the Abbot into the Manor 
House were sworn to secrecy. Aside from Guilbert 
de Rouen, none but Martin Reeve knew whence 
the Abbot had been rescued; and, fortunately, that 
grim warrior’s mouth was close as a tomb. Heloise 
could only conjecture how her tutor had fallen into 
such a plight. On the day of the revolt the Well- 
ham villeins were with their fellows at the Abbey, 
and in the house fear had scattered the domestics, 
so that the advent of the Abbot was unnoted, and 
the strange story of his immuration was unknown, 
as Dean Fletcher had craftily calculated would be 
the case. 

The third day the Abbot had been under her 
care, Heloise was in despair. Her patient had not 

[337] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


rallied ; indeed he grew weaker, and she feared that 
the end could not be far away. Toward sunset 
Heloise wandered down the pathway outside the 
moat, to drink in the fresh, sweet air. A turn in 
the path brought her suddenly upon the Keelby 
witch. The witch was seated on a boulder by the 
road, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin 
cupped in the palms of her hands. Her hat had 
fallen to the ground, and it lay battered between 
her feet. She appeared to be melancholy and lost 
in deep meditation. Something in the woman’s face 
touched Heloise’s heart, she seemed so forlorn, so 
disappointed, so forsaken. 

Heloise approached the witch. “Keelby Becky, 
are you tired?” she queried, sympathetically. 

The kindly inquiry surprised the witch. But 
instantly force of habit dropped her mask, and her 
real sentiments took swift cover. She sprang to 
her feet and asked quickly, “How is the sick man 
at the Manor House!” 

It was Heloise’s turn to be surprised, and her 
surprise was genuine, and complete. 

Noting Heloise’s evident surprise, the witch 
hastened to explain. “By the wee folk of the 
woods, Missey, do wise women know! Tell me, 
now, how is your Abbot?” 

A sense of being trapped by the supernatural 
overawed Heloise, and she answered, curtly, des- 
perately, “Come and see.” This was undoubtedly 
the very word the witch wanted her to say, for 
she complied with alacrity. 

[ 338 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The sick room wrought a miracle upon Keelby 
Becky. Her hands became deft, as soft as thought, 
and her harsh voice rippled musical as the 
laughter of childhood. The herbal lore of centuries 
ran down into her busy fingers. Heloise became a 
willing slave, glad to obey the beck and nod of the 
woman who knew exactly what to do and how to 
do it. 

The witch bathed the Abbot with cold water. 
Dexterously she chafed his body with her hands, 
till friction brought a healthy glow to the skin. 
From the folds of her dress she procured various 
dried herbs. With flint and steel she started a fire 
on the hearth, and shortly the fragrance of various 
decoctions simmering on the embers pervaded the 
room with an appetizing odor. When the liquids 
were ready the woman decanted them into sundry 
vials procured for her by Heloise. Then she ad- 
ministered to the Abbot a draught from one of the 
vials. Presently, the sick man broke out into a 
copious sweat. Whereupon the witch laughed, 
bathed him again, and again chafed his skin to 
rubiness. So through the long night did the witch 
nurse and doctor the Abbot. In the morning her 
patient opened his eyes, smiled a wan smile, then 
again relapsed into unconsciousness. 

When the witch arose to go, Heloise accompanied 
her to the door, for she greatly admired the witch’s 
clever leechcraft, and the instincts common to 
womanhood had drawn the two women strangely 
together. 


[339] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Keelby Becky,” said Heloise, “you are a good 
woman. I give you my hand in friendship.” The 
witch was visibly affected. In a voice mellow 
with human sympathy Heloise added, “Who are 
you; and why live you as you do?” 

Tears stood in Becky’s eyes. She sank into a 
settee, and Heloise seated herself by her side. “I 
wish I were a good woman — as good as you are,” 
Becky said. 

“Tell me about yourself,” Heloise suggested. 

The two were silent a moment, and the strange 
woman’s deep breathing might have passed for 
sighing. “ ’Tis too long a story,” she said at 
length, and her voice had the tone of one who is 
exchanging confidences. “A daughter of Jacob am 
I, and my magic is the ancient Hebrew Kabala. 
My father is gathered to his fathers. My mother, 
who taught me the mysteries of the Kabala, is a 
witch, and she lives by the bull-ring in Lincoln 
town. Dean Fletcher is my brother — ” 

“A Jew! The Dean — a Jew!” Heloise exclaimed, 
greatly excited. 

“No! A renegade Jew,” the witch corrected, her 
voice tense with feeling. “He denied the faith of 
his fathers that he might avoid the persecution 
which is the lot of our race, and at the same time 
stuff his purse with gold. He is hungrier for lucre 
than any money lender of the Ghetto ! He was a bad 
Jew, and he is a worse Christian. He did not prac- 
tise the religion of our fathers, and he is as unfaith- 
ful to your Cross as he was to our Jerusalem.” 

[340] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Heloise was deeply moved. Now that the witch 
had spoken, she could clearly recognize the family 
likeness between the Dean and the witch, that 
neither the Austin habit nor the witch’s queer garb 
could destroy, and many of the Dean’s personal 
idiosyncracies were both illuminated and inter- 
preted by his sister’s revelation. 

Presently the witch continued, and Heloise hung 
breathlessly upon every word. “Brother Dick’s 
plotting is at the bottom of your Abbot’s sickness 
— how, or how much, the crystal fails to tell. Dick’s 
Kabala is stronger than mine! I have sought to 
thwart him, but he is a favorite with the planets. 
Ever has it been so! Like a green bay- tree he 
flourishes, and in everything he wins his wicked 
way!” 

The woman was disconsolate, and Heloise put a 
sympathetic arm about her waist. It was the first 
time in many years that the witch had felt a good 
woman’s sympathy, and the luxury of the new 
experience opened in her the fountains of the great 
deep. 

“Yet is he my own flesh and blood,” she contin- 
ued. “ I must stand between him and his own folly. 
I may not denounce him, but must defend him as 
I can. I am torn between the pull of mine own 
flesh and my desire, just for once, to do the right 
thing. 

“Dick and I are fated to be on opposite sides. 
I favored Abbot Thomas, and wrought for him what 
I could; he fought him, and I fear, would have 

[341] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


taken his life. He is mightily hungry for your land ; 
I read the crystal for you, and the acres shall con- 
tinue yours! I helped the rising that has failed — 
failed, O, so miserably; he must needs fight it tooth 
and nail. Because kings and nobles flay us Jews 
and empty our purses into their public and private 
coffers, I favor villeins and the coming Brotherhood, 
and I read in the signs that the poor shall surely win ; 
Dick hobnobs with tyrants, and would bow the 
knee in Haman’s court if he gained a copper by the 
obeisance! Yet is he mine own flesh, and I cannot 
expose his foul play as I would. I can only work 
my magic to cross his purpose, and set the gnomes 
to help his foes. Suppose you, that, when the 
Brotherhood comes to power, — as one day it must, 
in spite of the sickening defeat which makes our 
gibbets stink afresh — suppose you that the Brother- 
hood will give the Jew a chance?” 

Her voice was solicitous with the passionate 
yearning of a down-trodden race, and her habitual 
mask had dropped completely from her character, 
revealing a woman of strong mind and exalted pur- 
pose. Heloise felt, somehow, as they wept together, 
that this queer woman was her sister. But the 
mutual sympathy lasted only a moment or two. 
Suddenly the witch pushed Heloise aside, and sat 
bolt upright in the corner of the settee. She arose 
quickly, and a musical though scoffing laugh rippled 
across her lips. 

“Beautiful confessor!” she said, sincere, however, 
in the compliment. She bowed toward Heloise, 
[ 342 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


who, too, had arisen. “And a most noble and edi- 
fying confession!” she added ironically, as she 
crossed her arms whimsically upon her bosom. 
“Good bye, Mistress Heloise! Nurse the Abbot 
back to life; then marry him, if you can!” 

The witch tripped lightly through the doorway. 
On the porch she turned. 

“Mistress Heloise will not betray the witch’s 
secret. Tell no one about my dear good brother!” 
she said, and she blew a light kiss from her hand 
as she ran down the steps and hastened across the 
courtyard. 

It was long before the Abbot was out of danger. 
Henceforth the stress of the conflict was transposed 
from his body to his mind. At first Heloise and 
Martin Reeve, watching by the sick man’s cot, were 
unnerved by the. low, continuous, inarticulate 
moan, and they gathered that pain lay beyond the 
reach of speech. Later, the tongue took up the 
burden of the trouble that was weighing the sick 
man down, and the vagrant fancies of a disordered 
brain broke into incoherent speech. Snatches of 
sentences, and of situations, became recognizable 
in the Abbot’s delirium. Primitive passion, mere 
brute force and hatred, seemed to be in the saddle. 
The watchers gathered that the Abbot was hot in 
the pursuit of something. The something individ- 
ualized into a person, then became a man, and the 
man passed unmistakably into a monk. The 
watchers shuddered as they realized that Dean 
Fletcher was the burden of the Abbot’s mania. 
fc’343 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Heloise was horrified at this glimpse into the men- 
agerie of dark, untutored, primeval, human passion. 
It hardly seemed possible that, even in delirium, 
naked hatred could drive poisoned vengeance so 
persistently and ruthlessly to the mark. 

Old Martin would soothe his mistress with the 
cautious words, “ My ! My ! Ain’t he out of his head ! 
He’s too kind and good to say such dreadful things 
when he’s himself.” But inwardly, with an exqui- 
site satisfaction that all but bubbled into an open 
chuckle, the quaint old sinner would say to himself, 
“ By sonties, the wicked Dean will catch it when the 
Abbot gets well; and may I be there to see an’ 
share the fun!” 

In the meanwhile the watchers administered the 
witch’s remedies, and day by day the Abbot won 
his way back to life. Gradually he gained strength, 
and his normal will slipped back to the helm, until 
one sunny afternoon the sick man relaxed into a 
gentle childlike slumber. Thence his progress was 
more rapid, and two or three weeks later Heloise 
was happy to know that the Abbot was convales- 
cent. 

“Martini” called the Abbot, in the early days 
of his convalescence. That worthy was sitting in 
the shade of an evergreen in the garden stripping 
feathers for arrows. 

“Sit by me, Martin,” said the Abbot, in a tone 
that drew a quizzical look from Martin. After 
tucking the Abbot’s wraps about him, Martin 
seated himself on the settee by his side. 

[344] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Who found me, Martin?” 

The question hit the center of the bull’s eye, 
and Martin hesitated. 

“You need not fear. I’m strong enough to know. 
Moreover, I must know. Tell me, Martin, who 
found me?” 

“I did, Sire and — and — and — ” 

“Guilbert de Rouen?” 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“ I thought as much.” 

“How many know where, and how you found 
me?” 

“None but Guilbert de Rouen and myself, and 
I am sworn to keep it secret, — curse this tattling 
old tongue of mine!” The Abbot laughed heartily 
and put up his hand, deprecatingly. 

“Tell me all about it, and tell no one else, my son, 
not — even Mistress Heloise.” 

Martin Reeve told the Abbot the story of the 
rising that had failed, and of how Guilbert de Rouen 
had led him through the veritable underworld to 
the Abbot’s chamber, and how the twain had carried 
the Abbot out into the open, and how thence he 
had been borne to the shelter of the Manor House. 

Abbot Thomas was deeply impressed. Awhile 
he could not command his voice. At length he said, 
very quietly, laying his hand on Martin’s head, 
“You are a good man, Martin, and a brave; and 
Guilbert de Rouen is a prince among men. Keep 
secret what you have told me, and good reward 
shall come of it.” Then to himself, he mused, 

[345] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“ ’Tis passing strange, but it lay dimly in my mind 
that Guilbert de Rouen had borne me out. He is a 
true man — and he loves Heloise — ” 

Down the garden path Heloise appeared, swing- 
ing her hat by its strings, and trilling a summer song. 
“’Tis time for sick folk to be indoors!” Heloise 
cried as she approached, and straightway Martin 
and she assisted the Abbot into the house. 

One day Heloise and the Abbot sunned themselves 
in the garden. The old familiar ring had come into 
the Abbot’s voice, and the ripple of laughter — 
sometimes a man’s laughter, sometimes a woman’s, 
quite often the two laughters mingled together — 
brought a smile to old Martin’s face a$ he pottered 
about in the garden. The two fell into serious talk. 

“Dean Fletcher immured you?” Heloise asked, 
with resentment strong in her voice. 

The Abbot looked at her, almost sorrowfully. 
“It hardly matters, does it, since I am here?” he 
asked. But Heloise missed the meaning that was 
in his voice. 

“I know it was the Dean — the crafty, spiteful, 
wicked man — and I hate him,” she answered 
passionately. 

“Nay, now! Nay !” he answered gently. “What 
gain we by staining our souls with maledictions? 
Hatred is poison to him who hates, and it injures 
not the hated. ’Tis better to forgive.” 

Heloise looked at him incredulously. She could 
hardly believe her ears. 

“ I have had my battle, and have won, and I will 

[346] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


harbor hatred no longer, 5 ’ the Abbot continued. 
“One day in my tomb, a broad ray of light from the 
splay fell full upon the crucifix that stood upon the 
credence. Never saw I such a light. It seemed 
to be within me as much as it was without, and it 
suffused the Crucified with a glory thaBturned the 
symbol ruby and transparent. In that holy light 
I saw what the cross really means. ’Tis not an 
ornament to be worn, nor a symbol to be adored. 
It is given us whereby we may crucify the things in 
us that are unworthy. By that miracle of light I 
saw how mean and pitiable was Dean Fletcher’s 
nature. I was sorry for him, and I forgave him. 
Then there stole into my heart a marvelous peace, 
and I felt that I was ready for the death that stared 
me in the face. The vision was worth the hell 
through which I had passed to reach its holy joy. 

“Since my resurrection I have striven to hold 
the ground I won when the holy light shone upon 
me. I am stronger now, and God gives me the 
good world again. I go out into the sunshine once 
more, and I will not weight myself with hatred of 
the man who did me grievous wrong. I tell you, 
Heloise, hatred is like the fox the Spartan boy 
concealed in his bosom, which scratched out the 
boy’s vitals the while he declared that the fox was 
not in his possession. I will not carry tooth and 
claw beneath my heart.” 

Heloise was awed at this revelation of a great 
soul. She had come to the Abbot with the set 
determination to start a train of action that would 
[ 347 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


lead to the Dean’s exposure and speedy punishment. 
She could not at once give up her purpose. 

“But, Abbot Thomas,” she persisted, “we cer- 
tainly must hand over Dean Fletcher to the civil 
law.” 

The Abbot looked at her a moment, a slight 
twinkle in his eye, then he said, “What is the use? 
The man is his own punishment! We would not 
stand in his shoes for the world. I tell you, the Al- 
mighty has him in hand ! He will not escape. The 
just God will hold the balance even.” 

“But how about Justice and Right, here and 
now, on this earth? ” she persisted. 

“More justice and less wrong will follow letting 
him alone, than would follow our pursuit of him to 
the bottom of the Pit itself,” the Abbot rejoined. 
“ If we follow him, we can but stain our own souls.” 

“But ecclesiastically?” she urged. 

Abbot Thomas smiled. ‘ ‘ There is no help there,” 
he urged. “Besides, it would only needlessly drag 
your name into the scandal. The Thornton Broth- 
erhood would remain on the Dean’s side. In the 
end Dean Fletcher would be commended by the 
Bishop for his prompt and vigorous maintenance of 
discipline under trying circumstances. Well do I 
know the monks and their habits of thought. 
Wyclif points the only way out. Only by a thor- 
ough reform in the practise of religion can justice 
and mercy be saved to the church.” 

Heloise was still militant. “Yes, I suppose,” she 
urged. “But, ought we not to play off the Dean 

[348] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


against Guilbert de Rouen! Guilbert will hang, 
unless something be done. Surely you will punish 
the Dean to save Guilbert from mortal jeopardy?” 

The Abbot mused awhile, drawing geometrical 
figures in the gravel with the point of his cane. 

“ Pray tell me, O mistress of logic, how punishing 
Dean Fletcher would make Guilbert de Rouen less 
guilty of treason! It really seems to me that the 
very fact of his rescuing me the day of the revolt, 
would be conclusive proof that he took part in the 
assault on the Abbey! The way out lies not in 
that direction. The Dean’s defense would help 
to seal Guilbert’s doom. We would do better to 
leave the Dean alone.” 

Silence fell awhile. Then the Abbot spoke again, 
gravely weighing his words. 

“Perhaps I can help Guilbert. He is a man 
among ten thousand, and I would lay down my life 
to save him. I hope to soon be able to travel. 
I shall go straightway to Wyclif, and through him 
I hope to move the king in favor of Guilbert de 
Rouen. No stone will I leave unturned.” 

Heloise would return to the subject of the pun- 
ishment of the Dean. Surely he ought to be 
punished. She could not understand why both 
Guilbert de Rouen and Abbot Thomas, each in his 
own way, should hold in leash the tugging hounds 
of justice, — not guessing that high chivalry towards 
the woman they both loved was the chief reason 
for the strange restraint. 

“Promise me this,” she said, “that if earthly 

[349] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


justice ever takes the Dean’s trail, you will do 
naught to throw the hounds off scent, and will not 
yourself call them off, even though they fang the 
Dean’s leathery throat.” 

Seeing how earnest she was, and how her heart 
was set on justice, he answered solemnly, “ I prom- 
ise, Heloise. I will not move against him, neither 
will I interfere if justice corners him.” 

“I thank you, Abbot Thomas,” said Heloise. 
“May justice not delay its coming! And you will 
leave the Dean to his ill-gotten nest! Ah me! I 
fear me that you will never be yourself again, and 
that the good old times are gone forever.” As she 
spoke she looked away from him, as though her 
wistful eyes would pierce the future. 

“Yes,” he answered gravely. “I must away. 
What can be done for Guilbert must be done at 
once, — before he comes to trial, if it be possible. 
I must forth to Wyclif to do what I can. My vows 
are more sacred to me than ever before, and they 
shall be fulfilled in Wyclif ’s camp.” 

A great tenderness passed into the Abbot’s voice, 
and Heloise shrank within herself, as though she 
were afraid of what the future might bring forth. 
But outwardly she appeared cheerful. The wind 
was chill, and she tucked the Abbot’s wraps about 
him. He caught her hand at work among the 
rugs, and drew her close to him on the settee, but 
his tenderness brought her only discomfort. 

“ I have had a great light, too, upon our relation- 
ship,” the Abbot said, with something of a tremor 
[ 350 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


in his voice. “My new light proves to be but 
your old light, that you had by intuition from the 
first. Well nigh did I lose my way, but from the 
first you saw clearly. My love almost shipwrecked 
me, body and soul.” 

The Abbot’s voice choked. Heloise’s face crim- 
soned, and her eyes rested uneasily upon the ground. 
She did not speak ; she could not speak, and pres- 
ently the Abbot continued. 

“Love, the greatest experience in life, is only 
possible when it can combine with honor and 
integrity,” he said. “I could not love you truly 
and — I will love you no other way — and be unfaith- 
ful to my religious vows. My vows are on me, and 
I can never love you as a man loves the maid he 
weds.” His voice grew sad, in spite of his effort 
to maintain a brave front. “But I shall love you 
more highly, more purely, and without fleshly pas- 
sion — as a faithful priest may love a pure woman. 
At last, Heloise, I have scaled your high level, and 
I am standing by you on the spot to which you 
sprang at once when first we discovered that our 
souls were knit together. It has taken me long to 
climb, and the way has been hard ; you soared nat- 
urally, on easy wings! We must both go our ways. 
You will be free to love as women love who wed, 
and so will you fulfill your destiny; I shall wed 
Wyclif’s Cause, and live the life I first vowed to the 
Church.” 

They were brave, fateful words, and neither the 
Abbot himself nor Heloise, fully knew how hard 
[35i ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


they were to speak, for the man devoutly loved the 
maid, and his words belied his heart. When at 
length Heloise broke the silence, a choking catch in 
her voice told the price of her masterly self-control. 

“ It is my own thought that you speak — my own 
vision come true,” she said, quietly. “I trow that 
it will be hard for us both to carry out your wise 
words.” She could say no more, and she settled down 
in the corner of the settee in misery. It was not the 
shrewd north wind that chilled her to the marrow. 

After a painful silence, the Abbot spoke her name. 
“Heloise,” and it was almost as though he 
addressed a stranger. 

“Yes,” she answered, timidly, and as though she 
were far away. 

“Guilbert de Rouen loves you better, and other 
than I can. I love him, too — how greatly no man 
can tell. I could do my duty better, if I knew that 
you would give your soul and body to his keep.” 

Heloise shivered. Her world seemed chill and 
dun, and her friends far away. “Speak not of it,” 
she said wearily as she arose. “The wind is cold, 
and we must indoors.” 

The Abbot arose, and stood before her, looking 
into her eyes. He put his hands gently upon her 
shoulders, and drew her tenderly to him. “A 
farewell kiss,” he said, in a tone sacramental. 

“Henceforth, I shall be but your priest — your 
spiritual guide — and to me you will be the loveliest 
soul in all my flock.” 

In silence they passed into the Manor House. 

[352] 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
THE LINCOLN ASSIZE 


23 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE LINCOLN ASSIZE 

WHICH DULY RECORDS THE TRIAL OF GUILBERT 
DE ROUEN AT THE BLOODY ASSIZE, AND SETS 
FORTH THAT GOOD MAN’S NOBLE BEARING IN 
THE PROSPECT OF A TERRIBLE DEATH 

More than four months had passed, and Guil- 
bert de Rouen lay in Lincoln castle, awaiting the 
approaching grand assize. Every item of news from 
the outside world which the Sheriff had brought to 
him, rendered Guilbert’s prospect more hopeless. 
Item by item, Guilbert had learned the sad story 
of how the revolt had everywhere failed. The 
gathering of a hundred thousand peasants on 
Blackheath, and the preaching of John Ball; the 
march of Russet on London, and the miracle by 
which the gates had been opened, and the peasants 
had gained bloodless entry into the city; Mayor 
Walworth’s bold murder of Wat Tyler under a 
flag of truce, and the king’s promise to redress the 
people’s wrongs; the few days of gracious pardon, 
when it seemed as though the millennium had 
really come, and as though the Brotherhood would 
surely be established; the awful days that shortly 
followed, when King Richard forgot his word, and 
peasant blood ran freely as water; then the 

[355] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


king’s sending of Judge Tressilian on the trail of 
the revolt, and the awful progress of his Bloody 
Assize, striking terror through the land; which 
was followed by the strange news of gibbets over- 
crowded with the dead bodies of villeins, until 
crows sickened of human carrion, and the air was 
tainted to the detriment of the public health — all 
this strange news the Sheriff broke to Guilbert as 
gently as he could. 

The Sheriff’s friendliness secured for Guilbert 
the privilege of occasional clandestine visits from 
his friends. Twice Sir William and Heloise came 
to see him. The first time — soon after Guilbert’s 
incarceration — Sir William was full of hope, for 
his power in court would undoubtedly obtain 
Guilbert’s speedy release. When next he came, 
in spite of an effort to show a brave face, he could 
not wholly hide his fears. The king was so enraged 
against the leaders of the revolt that nothing but 
blood could appease him and his nobles, and though 
Sir William had redoubled his efforts, he had little 
hope of success. 

Heloise brought with her a touch of the genial 
outside world, and the ripple of her voice was 
music in Guilbert’s ear. “Abbot Thomas and 
John Wyclif are our chief hope,” she said. “Wyclif 
is still a power at court, and where my father fails 
Wyclif may succeed. Day and night they work 
in your behalf, and I have great hope that they 
will succeed.” 

Guilbert shook his head, whereat Heloise re- 

[356] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


sponded, “Your name is ‘Doubting Thomas!’ ” 
Then both laughed, though not very heartily. 

Never had Guilbert loved Heloise more than now, 
but he spoke not a word nor gave he a sign of what 
surged in his heart. “The gibbet stops my tongue 
before it stills my heart,” he thought, as he stoi- 
cally committed himself to silence. 

Sir William and the Sheriff talked over the 
approaching trial, and as for the space of half an 
hour Guilbert and Heloise were left alone, Heloise 
broached the subject that lay most heavily upon 
her mind. “Dean Fletcher will be the chief wit- 
ness against you,” she said. “Let us make a 
counter attack, and charge him in open court with 
the Abbot’s immuration. It would discredit him 
so much that you might escape.” 

Guilbert shook his head, “Nay! Nay!” he 
said. “That could do no good, and out of it would 
come a great deal of harm. It could not free me, 
and it would certainly involve you.” He paused, 
reluctant to proceed, and then added: “Dean 
Fletcher immured the Abbot — because of his — his 
fancied relations with — with you, Heloise. To 
attack him now would be to air the Thornton scan- 
dal. I will not drag your name into court. You 
and I, and Martin Reeve, are all who know aught 
of that secret. I have reason to believe that the 
Thornton canons know no more about it than 
does the outside world. If I gain my liberty we 
will devise some plan whereby Dean Fletcher may 
get his just deserts. For the present we must let 

[357] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


him alone. Promise me this, Heloise — it may be 
my last request — promise me that you will in no 
wise raise this question at the trial.” 

Heloise’ s face crimsoned, and she was silent. It 
seemed very strange to her that Guilbert and the 
Abbot should both take exactly the same view of 
the matter. They had it in their power to crush 
the Dean, but they deliberately chose to suffer and 
let him go scot free. 

Then a great light broke in upon her. Both 
these men spared the Dean because they loved her ! 
At the cost of their lives they would shield the 
woman they loved! To be loved so nobly, and by 
two such men! And to know that she could be 
the wife of neither, though, in a way, she dearly 
loved them both! With the vision came a vivid 
sense of her own unworthiness. Her spirit rebelled 
against the sacrifice Guilbert and Abbot Thomas 
would make in her behalf. But Guilbert’s eyes 
rested upon her, and the spell of his will moved her. 

“Against my will, and against my better judg- 
ment,” she said at length, with downcast eyes, 
“I will respect your wish, seeing that the Abbot 
desires the same thing. I would slay the wicked 
man with my own hand were that possible. But 
I promise you that I will not bring his wickedness 
into court. Afterward, things may be different.” 

After court had adjourned, the day before the 
trial, the Sheriff sat with Guilbert in his cell. 

“Tomorrow,” said the Sheriff, reluctantly. 

Guilbert looked up at him quickly^ ‘“I’m glad,” 

[358] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he said. “Any action is better than suspense. 
What was the grist today?” 

“A fine October day it has been, and the sun sets 
in acres of crimson,” the Sheriff answered, looking 
up through the barred window. 

Guilbert smiled faintly at the evasion. “Nay! 
Tell me Tressilian’s grist today. How many?” 

“Let us not talk about it. I’m sick of blood. 
The city apprentices attacked the Ghetto today, 
and made a fine riot. I had two hundred men-at- 
arms out to quiet the roysterers.” 

“Nay! Nay! Tell me, if you be my friend. 
I am no child. Fortitude comes only of knowledge. 
How many did Tressilian condemn today?” 

“Twenty-one!” 

“Eighteen yesterday?” 

The Sheriff nodded. 

“Twenty the day before that! ’Tis a mighty 
grist! How many russets lie in your hopper 
ready for the mill?” 

“Two hundred and twenty-three, at last count; 
and they have a most evil smell!” 

“The grist will last awhile longer! How many 
have you gibbeted?” 

“More than two hundred!” 

“ ‘Hanged, drawn, and quartered,’ is the 
sentence?” 

“Yes. The judge has it by heart. He knows 
no other sentence!” 

“Was Tressilian drunk today?” 

“Aye! He was! And he swore like a trooper, 

[359] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


but not so bad as yesterday, when a villein quipped 
him, and he swore till he was purple in the face.” 

“Let me take a bow and an arrow — just one 
arrow — into court tomorrow,” said Guilbert, play- 
fully. “I’ll quiver the arrow in the bully’s heart, 
and rid the world of a fiend incarnate 1” 

The Sheriff laughed. Clapping his hand on his 
knee, he exclaimed, “By sonties! Would that I 
dare to do it, for you are a true shot!” 

“I’m the only gentleman on the docket?” 

“Yes; the rest are russet nobodies, and he drives 
them to the gibbet like sheep to the shambles,” 
answered the Sheriff. 

“I shall not disgrace my ancestry tomorrow,” 
said Guilbert, solemnly, casting his eyes upward. 
“Often have I looked on death before. ’Twill be 
like meeting an old acquaintance. How long 
between the sentence and its execution?” 

The Sheriff hesitated, and looked out of the win- 
dow. “The same day, at sunset,” he answered, 
with a catch in his voice. 

On the morrow, with four men-at-arms, the Sher- 
iff came to convey Guilbert to the court room. 
Guilbert was ready. The footfall of the six men 
reverberated in the subterranean corridor down 
which the little procession passed toward the court 
room. 

Approaching a flight of wooden stairs Guilbert 
first heard the confused hum of voices in the room 
above. As he followed the Sheriff up the steps, 
Guilbert caught sight of the court room crowded 
[360] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


to suffocation with men and women stretching 
their necks to get the first glimpse of the prisoner. 

“There he is! There he is!” the multitude cried, 
as Guilbert stepped into the room, and a bailiff 
hammered on a desk, shouting “Order! Order!” 

The shuffling of many feet and the swaying of the 
excited crowd, first thrilled Guilbert and then sick- 
ened him, and the fetid atmosphere struck a chill 
to his heart. 

“Poor stuff for revolt!” he thought, as he looked 
over the swaying, reeking, evil-smelling mass that 
packed the court room. 

Within the area reserved for officers of the court 
every seat was occupied, and begowned men-of- law 
leaned on the balustrade that separated the bar 
from the space below. Beyond the balustrade even 
the standing-room was all occupied. There stood 
city merchants in gay attire, doctors of physic with 
the wise look. Franklins, reeves and plowmen 
were crowded in from the country, and monks and 
friars were so compactly jostled together that their 
interminable debate and quarrel was for the time 
being impossible. Knights, squires and yeomen, 
in their vari-colored garments brightened the room 
like blossoms upon an autumn bank of russet — for, 
Guilbert noted, the russet courtepy of the villeins 
was in evidence everywhere. Indeed, the majority 
in the court room were evidently villeins. Hot 
tears rolled down their grimy faces, and their eyes 
bulged with horror at the fate which they too well 
knew awaited the distinguished prisoner. 

[36i] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


These details, though they were foreign to the 
center of his interest, attracted Guilbert’s attention 
before he saw Judge Tressilian seated on a dais 
a short distance in front of him. The judge’s 
scarlet fur-lined robe first caught Guilbert’s eye. 
From the scarlet robe Guilbert’s vision wandered 
to the judge’s face — a hard, flinty face, stained 
with passion — and Guilbert felt instinctively that 
the man was incapacitated by anger. It seemed 
as though the judge were there chiefly bent upon 
avenging the murder of his predecessor by the 
villeins of Kent. Near the judge’s dais Guilbert 
saw Sir William Wellham wedged in the throng. 
Close by him, and near the table, sat Scrivener 
Twidale, busy with his quill, and from between the 
stalwart forms of two men-at-arms near by peeped 
the queer face of Dwarf Henry. Soon Guilbert 
lost something of his sense of loneliness, for it was 
good to feel that these friends were in court. 

From the dock Guilbert swept such a bow to the 
judge as he might have made had the judge and 
he met at Westminster. The judge acknowledged 
the bow with the slightest inclination of his head, 
and then turned abruptly sidewise and stared out 
of an open casements Presently the judge turned 
and looked the prisoner full in the face, but spoke 
not a word. At this place, all through the trials, the 
judge had broken into invective and coarse tirade 
against the plain russet prisoners. Today the judge 
did not rant — whereat the multitude marveled. 

What new spirit had come upon Judge Tressilian? 
[362] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Had he foresworn profanity? However that might 
be, he seemed uneasy. He turned again to the open 
casement as though the vista afforded him some re- 
lief, and while he ruminated upon the cluster of 
dirty chimney pots and a small area of tiled roofs 
which was visible through the casement, he simu- 
lated reflection by nibbling the end of his quill. It 
would seem that it was one thing to condemn a few 
score of russet nobodies with scant trial — their exe- 
cution being a foregone conclusion — and an entirely 
different matter when a strong man of family, with 
friends influential in high circles, stood in the dock 
awaiting trial. The multitude breathed hard and 
waited, and the judge’s quiet added a new dramatic 
element to the scene. 

1 ‘You wish a jury?” queried the judge, turning 
to Scrivener Twidale, who had risen by the table, 
and stood facing the bench. 

“We do, my lord,” answered counsel. 

“Draw the jury,” answered the judge, but so 
quietly that the people did not realize that the 
wheels of justice were again in motion. 

It took but an hour to impanel the jury. During 
the process Sir William Wellham stepped up to the 
dock, and engaged in conversation with Guilbert. 
Awhile, the judge scowled and fidgeted in his 
chair, and at length he broke out sharply, “It is 
not permitted to speak to the prisoner.” 

“I did but counsel him on his defense,” answered 
Sir William, surprised and chagrined at the unrea- 
sonable prohibition. 


[363] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“In these treason cases, that is not permitted,” 
answered the judge, with asperity, and Sir Wil- 
liam prudently resumed his seat. 

“Richard Fletcher,” called the attorney for the 
crown, and deputies echoed the call down the 
corridors. They need not have been so vociferous ! 
The Dean of Thornton was waiting to be called. 
He would not have missed prompt answer to his 
name for anything in the world ! The first deputy 
had hardly got the name upon his tongue when 
Guilbert saw the door open, and the spare figure of 
Dean Fletcher, shrouded from crown to sole in 
the somber habit of the Austin Canons, stepped 
into the room and walked to the witness stand, 
stirring a wave of excitement as he passed. 

Under examination the witness stated that he 
knew the prisoner well. Witness had been present 
during the attack on Thornton Abbey. In fact, 
he had managed the defense that day. Yes, it 
might truthfully be said that he had led the defense 
— by the aid of the Blessed Saints. There was 
fighting from early morning till nightfall. Yes, 
much fighting. During the day he had seen the 
prisoner continually. The prisoner was leading 
the villeins — was, indeed, in command. No! in- 
deed; there could be no mistake! He knew the 
prisoner better than he knew his own father — 
because he had associated with him more recently. 
Yes, the prisoner had built the new church at the 
Abbey. That work had thrown the prisoner and 
witness closely together. While the church was 

[364] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


a-building he had enjoyed daily intercourse with 
the prisoner. Therefore he knew him well. 

Witness had seen the prisoner at various points 
during the attack on the Abbey. He was always 
directing the rebels against the Abbey. Yes, he 
carried a sword. It was drawn, and he had noticed 
blood upon it. He heard the prisoner give many 
orders, and had seen him leading the villeins in 
various attacks. There could be no doubt that 
the prisoner was the leading spirit of the attack 
upon the Abbey. Yes, he was fully aware that 
his testimony might lead to the hanging of a gentle- 
man. This the witness greatly regretted, since 
the gentleman was an old friend, but his conscience 
and his oath compelled him to speak the truth, 
even though he himself were to suffer thereby. 

Guilbert sat unmoved while the Dean swore 
away his life, except that his manacled hands 
twitched nervously on his knees. He pierced the 
Dean with his eye, but the Dean was looking at 
the jurors while he detailed his testimony. Never 
once did he look towards the dock. 

“Dean Fletcher, you defended the Abbey on the 
day in question?” Scrivener Twidale asked, in 
cross examination. 

“We did,” came the precise answer. The Dean 
was not to be caught napping! 

“Who did?” queried Scrivener, snappily. 

“The Brotherhood of St. Mary’s at Thornton,” 
answered the Dean, seeming to enjoy the verbal 
dress parade. But behind the impenetrable mask 

[365] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


which the Dean wore, Guilbert detected a certain 
uneasiness. Whither tended these questions? Did 
this fine lawyer know more than was public? 

“Had you no assistance?” drawled Scrivener, 
his shaggy head cocked sidewise, his eyes examining 
the panelwork of the ceiling. 

Without, Dean Fletcher was composure itself; 
within, the lawyer’s simple question stirred a com- 
motion. However, he looked squarely at his 
interrogator. Just what the Dean read in the 
lawyer’s face will never be known, but it may be 
surmised that the astute man concluded that the 
question was innocent of all knowledge of the green 
archers, and the part they had borne in the defense 
of the Abbey. He answered deliberately, “No, sir, 
the monks and I together, fought till the Sheriff 
arrived with troops.” 

“That will do, Dean Fletcher,” said the man-at- 
law. 

As the Dean stepped off the stand, the tense 
strain under which the auditors had rested during 
his examination broke out into a lively buzz of 
excitement. “He’ll hang! He’ll hang! O, sure 
he’ll hang!” passed in hoarse whispers from mouth 
to mouth. 

It took much vigorous hammering of the gavel 
on hard oak to reduce the excited multitude to 
quiet. Guilbert heaved a sigh of relief when the 
door closed upon the dark figure of the Dean. 
Then again he fixed his attention on the proceedings. 

“Robert Croix. Call Robert Croix.” 

[366] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The new witness on the stand, the prosecution 
proceeded. 

'‘What is your occupation?” 

“I am an agent of the King.” 

“Were you in Thornton shortly before the attack 
upon the Abbey?” 

“I was.” 

“Have you ever seen the prisoner before?” 

“I have.” 

“Where?” 

“At Thornton, in Lincolnshire.” 

“State the circumstances.” 

“I was detailed to shadow the movements of the 
agitators in Lincoln. I gained admission to a 
secret council in the stables of the Saracen’s Head 
at Thornton. I passed as a Clerk of Oxenford, 
Thirwood by name, and had the countersign.” 

There ensued a great commotion among the 
villeins in the room. “Order! Order!” cried the 
deputies, and men-at-arms pounded the butts of 
their spears on the floor to enforce quiet. Guilbert 
recognized the man. “The wretched spy,” he 
said bitterly under his breath, as he composed 
himself again to listen. 

“You may continue, Croix. Take no notice of 
these louts,” exclaimed the judge. “Another dem- 
onstration — and I will clear the court, and hang 
a dozen villeins!” 

“During the meeting,” the spy continued, “I 
heard the prisoner pledge himself to the revolt in 
conversation with one John Barr, a well-known 

[367] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


agitator. I heard the conversation plainly. I was 
nearer to the twain than I am to you,” referring 
to the counsel for the prosecution. 

Vigorous cross-examination failed to shake the 
testimony of the witness. That he was a profes- 
sional spy counted for nothing. Anything was 
welcome that promised to strengthen the throne, 
or that would bring about the punishment of those 
who had participated in the revolt. 

For the defense little could be done. Sir Wil- 
liam testified to the prisoner’s good standing, as 
did several others, but little impression did the 
testimony make. 

The crown attorney did not care to address the 
jury! The facts in the case were so acknowledged 
that he would not waste the time of the court. 
A verdict against the prisoner, — well, the facts in 
the case left no other course open! 

Nothing was left to Scrivener Twidale but to 
make a strong plea for mercy. The prisoner was 
an architect, and not a warrior. His reputation was 
of the best, his character above reproach. Prob- 
ably it was sheer love of adventure that had in- 
veighed him into the revolt. With so much that 
was adventuresome transpiring about him, the 
prisoner had simply drifted in, because peril was 
fascinating, without in any sense adopting the cause 
as his own. He had no treasonable intent, and had 
meant no harm. Out of sheer love of adventure he 
would have joined the king in a struggle against 
the villeins as quickly as he had the revolt. 

[368] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The speech was a brilliant bit of special pleading. 
Both the lawyer and the man had done their best, 
but Scrivener sat down feeling that his effort was 
a failure. The men-at-law lightly beat a tattoo 
on the tables with their fingers, or stared vacantly 
at the ceiling. The judge turned to his casement 
landscape, and bit his lip hard, evidently to suppress 
an outburst of bad temper. Beyond the bar the 
crowd craned its neck the better to see first the 
prisoner, then the judge, and, anon, the jury, then 
it held its breath. Rain beating on the casements, 
and the sough of the wind among the turrets of 
the castle, sounded ominous. The people shud- 
dered. Guilbert de Rouen sat upright, pale but 
composed, apparently more at ease than many in 
the room. He watched closely the movements of 
the judge. 

At length, after fumbling over some parchments 
on his desk, the judge turned to the jury. “Gentle- 
men of the jury,” he said, in a sub-tone meant only 
for the jury’s ear, “the case is simple — very simple. 
Indeed, there is no defense. The facts as charged 
are acknowledged. A jury may not yield to mere 
sympathy. It is for you to find a verdict according 
to the facts. You may retire to consider your 
verdict, if you choose. But, it is more than prob- 
able that you will wish to save time and dispense 
with that formality.” Then, raising his voice to 
a more public pitch, he continued, “Gentlemen, 
are you ready with your verdict?” 

The members of the jury bent their heads together 

[369] 


24 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


in hurried whispered consultation. It took but a 
moment to reach a verdict. Then the foreman 
arose, “My lord,” said he, “we find the prisoner 
guilty as charged.” 

It took the men-at-arms full five minutes to 
restore quiet in the room. When the hot wave of 
emotion had subsided the judge said to the jury, 
“Put it down in writing — a clerk will scribe for you !” 

The judge handed to the foreman a document 
already written in full, needing only the signature 
of the foreman of the jury, which that good man 
speedily scrawled on the parchment. 

When the signed verdict was in the judge’s hand 
he turned to the prisoner. “Have you aught to say 
why sentence of death should not be passed upon 
you?” said he, reaching, even as he spoke, towards 
the black cap which lay on the desk before him. 

Guilbert de Rouen arose, and answered quietly, 
“No, my lord; except to say that the acts which 
bring me here were done in behalf of the poor 
villeins of Eng — ” 

“Tut, tut, Guilbert de Rouen,” broke in the 
judge sharply. “We want no defense now, nor 
excuse, nor extenuation.” The judge was adjust- 
ing the black cap upon his head, when Sir William 
Wellham arose and addressed him. 

“My lord, I suppose my action is unusual,” he 
said. “My excuse is that this is an unusual case. 
I am known to the king, and I plead for clemency 
for Guilbert de Rouen.’ He is well known to me, 
and however dark appearances may be against 
[ 370 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


him, I know that he is guiltless of treason. He is 
no criminal. If it were possible I would appeal for 
the ordeal of mortal combat, and so refute these false 
accusations, but then I suppose ‘benefit of clergy’ 
would prove a safe refuge, for his chief accusers 
seem to be monks! My lord, if you cannot acquit 
or pardon the prisoner, I pray you to give me leave 
and time, to appeal to the king. I pray you to 
withhold execution till I can see the king.” 

Sir William seated himself. Guilbert fixed his eyes 
on the flinty face of the judge. The multitude held 
its breath and watched intently to see what would 
happen, for Sir William’s appeal had made a pro- 
found impression. 

“I may take no notice of your appeal, Sir Knight,” 
said the judge, after a full minute of silence. “’Tis 
kindly meant, but out of place. Regardless of 
sentiment, the law must take its course. Full 
justice must I pass upon the prisoner.” 

Judge Tressilian put the black cap upon his head, 
and the multitude held its breath. He motioned to 
the prisoner, and Guilbert arose, standing with head 
erect. 

“Guilbert de Rouen,” said the judge, in an even 
tone of voice, “in open court you have been con- 
victed of treason, insurrection, and murder. You 
have made no defense. The facts of the case are 
undisputed. As an example to the class to which 
you belong by birth and education, you must 
suffer the extreme penalty of the law.” 

[371] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


One could hear the people breathe. They leaned 
forward, feverish to catch every word. Guilbert 
stood at attention, erect as a soldier. 

“The sentence that I pass upon you is, — that 
you do hang by the neck till you are dead. And 
I do further direct that your body shall be drawn 
and quartered, and afterward gibbeted.” 

Guilbert de Rouen stood apparently unmoved 
by the shocking words. When, after a long pause 
the judge added, “And may God Almighty have 
mercy on your soul,” Guilbert bowed his head, 
as though he acquiesced in that part of the sen- 
tence. The multitude was moved to sobs and tears. 
Dean Fletcher, standing by the door, turned 
to Guilbert a smiling and well satisfied face. 

Judge Tressilian called the Sheriff to the Bench. 

“Mr. Sheriff, you may delay execution four 
weeks,” he said in tones inaudible beyond the 
narrow circle about him. To Sir William, who 
had joined the group, he added, “That will give 
you time to see the king. The king’s at West- 
minster. But I know your mission will be in 
vain!” 

Promptly the men-at-arms closed up about 
Guilbert, and the Sheriff stepped into the dock 
saying, “Come! I have four weeks’ respite.” 

Guilbert looked at the Sheriff inquiringly, but 
received no further word, so he turned to follow 
his guides down the wooden steps. As Guilbert 
stood facing the weeping multitude, a commotion 
at the back of the room attracted his attention. 

[372] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


From the midst of a band of villeins an unearthly 
yell rent the air. In an instant the crowd surged 
in intense excitement, and pandemonium broke 
loose. Above the hubbub, like a sort of obligato 
solo, holding its own among all the other sounds, 
could be heard a shrill treble voice, pitched high, 
carrying detached words and broken parts of 
sentences. 

“To hell with judge and jury! Insurrection — 
rich — poor — villeins — Rouen — Holy Moses — Sacred 
Mother of God — gibbet — night — damnation of 
your souls,” were all the words Guilbert could 
distinguish. What the speech might mean he could 
not tell. Presently the queer figure of a woman 
individualized itself in the throng, standing high 
above the rest. For a moment she stood there, 
her feet, perhaps, resting upon men’s shoulders. 
She was a most absurd figure, appareled in a 
fashion a hundred years out of style, and made 
more conspicuous by a high conical yellow hat, 
cocked a little to one side of her head. 

But a moment did she stand there, her arms 
gesticulating wildly, her tongue uttering scorching 
words. Then she vanished through an open 
casement. 

“The Keelby witch!” Guilbert said to himself as 
he followed his guards down the stairs. 

An hour later there were hundreds in Lincoln 
city who, with their own eyes, had seen the Keelby 
witch ride off from the court room, high in the air, 
astride a living broomstick! 

[373] 



\ 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE MOTHER OF A WITCH 









CHAPTER XXIV 


THE MOTHER OF A WITCH 

WHICH MAKES DUE RECORD OF CERTAIN STRANGE 
HAPPENINGS ON THE BORDERLAND OF THE OCCULT 
WORLD, AND LEAVES THE READER TO INFER THAT 
WITCHES LOVE MUCH THE SAME AS DO LESS 
SUPERNATURAL FOLK 

Immediately after her escapade in the court 
room, the Keelby witch might have been seen to 
alight from the casement upon the flat of a roof, and 
to scurry to the friendly shelter of a stack of chim- 
neys. Only a moment or two did the chimneys 
hide her movements, but when she reappeared her 
yellow cap had vanished, and some touch of magic 
had so changed her garb that it was a demure nun, 
in regulation wimple and gown, that walked briskly 
across the roof to the part of the battlements 
farthest from the public eye. Out of keeping with 
her new role though the movement undoubtedly 
was, the nun swung herself lightly over the battle- 
ment, and, with the aid of the ivy which grew 
thickly on the wall, she reached the ground behind 
a flying buttress, whence she glided into the pro- 
tection of the crowd that crossed the castle yard 
as the court room emptied after the trial. 

It was raining hard, and the crowd, homeward 
bound, drifted across the yard, discussing the 

[377] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


events of the trial, wondering what the unusual 
disturbance might mean, and grumbling at the 
steady downpour. Secure from observation in the 
crowd, the nun passed through the outer gate, 
crossed the drawbridge into the city, and at the 
Bail she turned to the right down the narrow 
crooked street. When she came to the dip of 
Steep Hill, she turned sharply downward, hugging 
the walls for shelter from the rain and also for 
protection from the torrent that surged down the 
steep gutters. 

Close by the Dernestal gate, which had not yet 
been closed for the night, she halted before the 
door of a house. Doubtless the pelting rain 
made the woman a little impatient, and possi- 
bly she was anxious to lose no time in placing the 
door between herself and chance passers-by. How- 
ever that may be, she seized the grotesque dragon 
which hung upon the oaken door to serve the pur- 
pose of a knocker, and with it she vigorously deliv- 
ered sundry cabalistic signals; whereupon, appar- 
ently of its own accord, the door opened before her, 
and she quickly passed out of sight. Halfway 
down the narrow passage between the two houses, 
the wall to the left was broken by a doorway wherein 
stood the withered figure of a strange old woman, 
who was evidently waiting for the nun. Her 
appearance was uninviting, but her greeting was 
sprightly and hearty. 

“Well, a- well! Your knocking would waken 
Tophet! By the fathers of Israel, what monkey 

[378] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


prank be you at now, saucy Becky?” exclaimed the 
beldame, as she motioned her visitor to follow her 
indoors. The nun, evidently well pleased with 
her reception, followed, laughing softly, for she 
appeared to appreciate the greeting as a compliment 
of worth. 

“The devil is to pay at the castle,” answered 
the nun, as she crossed the threshold. “I read 
the Fool on the Bench a red hot bit of my mind! 
For once he heard the truth from the villeins’ side! 
I’m sheer angry at such make-believe justice!” 
As she spoke, she shook the wet from her garments 
and wiped her muddy feet on the mat inside the 
door. 

“Come, dry yourself by the fire, Becky,” the 
old woman said, shaking with laughter which she 
tried to conceal, as she led the nun into the house. 
When they were in the room and the door was shut, 
the old woman added, with a shake of her head 
that indicated strong disapproval: “You had better 
let alone our crooked, foolish, stolid English justice, 
my dear, or there’ll be a witch swinging by the 
neck, or drowning on a stool, I’m a-thinking!” 

“Tut! Tut! Tut! mother mine, you grow timid 
with your years. Since Dame Balaset was hanged 
from this house, near a hundred years have passed, 
but I declare that you are scared yet! The devil 
take ’em all, I say, for the innocent blood that they 
have spilt! But we are in no danger, mother mine. 
While they persecute the villeins, they will let Jews 
alone.” 


[ 379!] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


With her back to the fire the nun warmed herself 
and the flickering light from the grate danced her 
shadow grotesquely on the walls of the room. 

“It all looks familiar,” she thought, as her eyes 
ranged the properties of her mother’s craft. 

A stuffed owl stared wisdom at her from a table 
by the wall, and a living hawk blinked its eyes 
from the top of a dusty spinning wheel which stood 
in a corner of the room. “We’ll go a-hawking yet, 
you and I, old bird,” she said, laughingly, as she 
stroked the bird’s feathers. 

From a bracket on the wall a human skull looked 
down on her, and some weird touches of phos- 
phorus, left over, perhaps, from last night’s seance, 
shimmered on the dry bones uncannily. “Old 
Grimface!” she exclaimed, as she took the skull in 
her hands. “You make me laugh! I wonder who 
you were! Now you are a witch’s slave!” 

Her eye rested on an old punch bowl of beaten brass, 
old enough to have served wassail at a viking’s feast. 

‘ ‘ Gentiles have ever been fools with wine, ’ ’ she mused, 
and with her finger she traced a pentagram in the 
dust that gathered in the bottom of the bowl. 

A baby crocodile crouched on a ledge on the wall, 
and yawned for flies that came in plenty and went 
their way unharmed. The nun raised her eyes to 
a shelf on which stood sundry bottles pasted with 
labels, and containing various medicinal infusions. 
“Hippocrates’ and Galen’s lore,” she mused, 
and looked upon the vials with pride. “ But, there 
is more to be learned yet,” she added aloud. 

[380] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“You had better doff your gown,” said the old 
woman, who had just returned to the room. 

While she spoke there was a flutter among the 
folds of the nun’s kirtle, followed by a few quick 
movements of the nun’s hands, all noiseless as the 
turning of an owl’s head, and the dark robe lay at 
her feet. The wimple about the nun’s head flew 
into a far corner of the room; and, dressed in a close- 
fitting and short green silken skirt, with a jaunty 
cap to match, the erstwhile nun swung into a 
merry impromptu dance, marking the time by 
clapping her hands above her head — a witch once 
more, albeit bubbling over with the gay spirit of 
the Maypole, though the month was October. 

“You’re a clever one, Becky! You’re a witch of 
witches, and I love you for it, daughter!” and the 
elder woman threw her skinny arms about the neck 
of the younger, and smacked her lips with a hearty 
kiss, which marks of endearment Becky returned 
with interest. 

“You taught me, mother mine,” the younger 
witch replied, as she stroked back the grey hair 
from her mother’s forehead. “By your Kabala 
I thrive, and ’tis my mother’s daughter that I am!” 

“ But you must be careful, Becky; you wild grace- 
less scamp! If the lawyers once get you, or the 
churchmen, or the mad populace, you’ll last about 
as long as does a rat with a terrier; and then my 
poor old lonely heart would surely break.” 

The older woman sank into a chair by the hearth 
and lapsed into moody silence. Becky drew up a 
[38i] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


stool and sat by her side, and both women stared 
into the fire, as though they would read the runes 
of the fitful embers. A sense of something impend- 
ing, on which they would rather think than talk, 
seemed to oppress both women. At length the elder 
witch drew a deep sigh. “Any news of Richard ?” 
she asked, in a voice pitiful with hopelessness. 

“He’s in town!” Becky answered, laconically, her 
eyes still searching the embers. 

The old woman started. “He will not come 
here?” she asked, in a manner which indicated that 
she half feared and half hoped that Richard might 
appear. 

Becky shook her head. “You will never see 
him here!” she said, emphatically, interested still 
in the embers. 

“What’s he doing, now?” the old woman asked, 
moved with maternal solicitude. 

“Getting rich, and sleeking his own hide!” 
answered Becky, bitterly, as with the poker she 
pushed the end of a log off the andiron into the 
fire. After an awkward pause, Becky continued, 
“He’ll be Abbot soon!” 

“Abbot!- Abbot!” the old woman repeated, 
slowly, as though she felt for the meaning of words 
with which she was unfamiliar. “That’s like being 
High Priest in Israel in the olden day?” 

Becky nodded her head, and a faint smile momen- 
tarily lighted her face. She was more familiar 
with the ways of the Gentile world than was her 
aged mother. 


[382] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“I would he were a Rabbi — just a plain Rabbi/’ 
she continued. “ In his veins is the blood of Israel’s 
best — and he serves at Christian altars! O, God 
of our fathers!” she cried piteously as she clasped 
her hands, and her uplifted eyes brimmed with 
tears and prayer. “Can he be a good man, Becky, 
and be renegade to the faith? We practise the 
Black Art, Becky — that I know ! But ever have we 
been high-minded, and we have kept from the 
meannesses that make life wicked. Our Black 
Art is but a higher knowledge which one day all 
mankind will be wise enough to share. Despicable 
Christian though he be, is our Richard a true man? 
Tell me that, Becky. I could half forgive him his 
Christianity were he a true man.” 

Becky’s face clouded, and she hesitated. “A 
little pinch of the righteousness which our fathers 
loved, and a mite of goodness which Christians 
affect, would do our Richard no harm!” she 
answered, unconsciously drifting into the oracular 
style of her profession. 

“Then Richard Balaset is a wicked man?” 

“Nay! mother, nay! You know he does not 
bear your name! He is named, Fletcher; Dean 
Fletcher that was, Abbot Fletcher that’s soon to 
be!” There was the tang of high scorn in Becky’s 
voice. 

“Tell me of him, Becky. Tell me clearer than 
the crystal reads. Speak me words of open vision.” 

“No! Richard is hardly good! He is crooked 
in his heart, and is given to wearing many faces — 

[383] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


which might serve a timely turn in our Black Art, 
but which they tell me ill comports with the char- 
acter of Dean or Abbot! By sharp practise, if by 
nothing worse, he comes to the Abbacy, and today 
he needlessly swore away the life of as good a man 
as ever lived. Richard’s shoes are getting danger- 
ous! Were they my size, I would not wear them a 
single minute ! The lightning might strike me dead ! ” 

“Woe is me! Woe is me!” the old woman 
wailed, as she rocked herself back and forth in her 
chair. “His danger is his punishment for for- 
swearing the faith of his fathers. They stand in 
slippery places who forsake their fathers’ God. 
But, have you warned him ? Have you warned him, 
Becky? He is our own flesh and blood!” 

“Often, and well! But, ’tis no use! My read- 
ings always come askew in his case! His Kabala 
overbears mine; perhaps because the Saints help 
him, and contend against me — who knows? I 
would have diverted him from conflict with Abbot 
Thomas, but his ambition vaulted over my caution, 
and now the Abbot’s gone, and it appears that 
Richard will have his place! When he quarreled 
with Guilbert de Rouen, I sought to win him to 
better mind. But the architect was the Abbot’s 
friend, so Richard plunged into hatred of them 
both, and he thinks thereby to win profit. Many 
weeks did I urge him that his interests lay with the 
villeins, but forsooth, because the nobles have the 
fattest purse he must side with them, and since the 
revolt failed he is firmer in the saddle than ever! 

[384] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


All one night I read the crystal to him against his 
coveting of the Manor House lands, but he’ll sell 
his soul and mortgage his body for a rod of forest 
glebe, and he expects soon to own the land ! He over- 
rides my wisdom. Yet, notwithstanding his appar- 
ent success, Richard is very foolish ! His ambition 
harms so many folk that it needs no second sight 
to see that shortly his enemies will unite to crush 
him. Then will he have no friends! Already the 
crystal reads me strange forebodings when I call 
his name.” 

While Becky spoke, her mother was evidently the 
storm center of strong conflicting emotions. There 
contended in her bosom natural affection for her 
clever son, and strenuous resentment of his perver- 
sion from the ancestral faith. She suffered vicari- 
ous remorse for his apostacy, but could not wholly 
hide from herself her mother’s pride in his advance- 
ment in the church that gloried in Israel’s downfall. 
She frankly loathed what her son was and did, while 
her daily prayer bore up a petition for his protection 
from the consequent harm. As a penalty for his 
faithlessness, she banished him from her presence, 
the while she filled her mind with pleasant imagin- 
ings concerning him. And while she vigorously 
wished that, for his sins, he might come to Tophet, 
she hoped somehow to see him enjoy Abraham’s 
paradise, and her withered old arms ached to clasp 
him to her bosom once more before she died. 

“Is there no hope that his heart may turn?” the 
old woman asked, at length. 

[385] 


25 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“None, whatever,” Becky answered, promptly, 
though it was evident that, in her way, she too was 
torn by the conflict which so discomforted her 
mother. “There’s more to Richard’s horoscope 
than I have been able to read, mother,” Becky 
added, after a pause. “The edge of the crystal 
always dulls, so that I cannot read all his doings, 
nor forecast all his future.” 

“The bottom of the Pit would be better!” the 
old woman muttered, and then a long silence fell 
upon them both. 

Suddenly, Becky changed her mood, and became 
the happy, careless, jaunty witch again, evidently 
intent upon lifting Mother Balaset out of melan- 
choly. But the task was hopeless. As Becky 
waxed more and more sprightly, Mother Balaset 
sank into corresponding depression of spirit. Hud- 
dled into a heap in her chair and staring abstract- 
edly into the flickering fire, the old woman at length 
drifted into a sort of trance, and Becky sobered 
down to watch what would come of it. 

Presently the old witch arose, and glided through 
the heavy curtains into the further apartment. 
A minute later she emerged, bearing a brass kettle 
and a small sheaf of dried herbs. She set the kettle 
on the fire, and, squatting low on the hearth, began 
to throw herbs into the kettle, muttering unintelli- 
gible incantations the while, and keeping a slow 
and irregular time by the swaying of her body. 
When the kettle began to bubble Becky stopped 
her humming of a ballad of Robin Hood at the 
[386] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


place where Maid Marian was gay at a wedding, 
and settled down soberly by the old woman’s side. 

“What is it, mother?” she asked, blowing aside 
the steam and peering intently into the noisy 
kettle. 

“A topsy-turvy world; a very topsy-turvy 
world!” the hag answered, swaying rhythmically 
and falling into a low, soft croon. 

“Tell me, mother; tell me.” 

“War! War! War!” came the answer, in a wild 
wail. “The king’s a fool — a fool for greater fools! 
Killing folk to make them good! Think of that! 
Bury your money deep, my men, and forget where 
you dug its grave! Daughters, keep indoors! 
You’re safer! Beware of Death, for the white 
horseman rides afield.” 

The hag swayed her body to and fro, and crooned 
the crisp sibylline sentences in a tone and rhythm of 
occult quality. She seemed to be detached from 
what she was saying, and the burden of her utter- 
ance appeared to be new even unto herself. The 
word “ Death,” as it drifted from her lips, seemed to 
startle and even horrify her. Her body stiffened 
and she gazed into the kettle with a far-away 
sight that was positively uncanny. Becky, think- 
ing the trance was over, tried to pull the old woman 
away, but without effect, for her eyes still remained 
fixed among the mysteries of the bubbling kettle. 

Becky arose and snuffed the candles, and pres- 
ently the strange spirit moved the woman again. 
“The clouds are about him,” she moaned. “The 

[387] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


heavens are curtained with blackness, and lighten- 
ing zigzags the sky! He is struck! He is down! 
He is dead!” 

Becky tried to comfort the old woman, but she 
pushed her daughter from her impatiently. Then, 
in the light of the fire, the old witch commenced 
to scrutinize her own palm. “ ’Tis the age-long 
conflict betwixt Mars and Venus,” she said slowly 
and in tones almost inaudible, as she read the 
difficult lines. “Jupiter stands cold and impartial 
between. God of Israel! What is this? Both 
Venus and Mars are down! No man can stand 
against such a portend! Dicky! O Dicky! Dicky, 
my son!” 

The old woman sobbed, and the arm of the 
younger woman stole about her tenderly, affection- 
ately, her gaiety all gone now. Presently, the 
hag’s gaze returned to the bubbling kettle. She 
looked more intently, straining her eyes as though 
to ken some far-off event. In a moment she caught 
her breath in short quick gasps, and clutched her 
bony hand to her throat. 

“Daughters, too! Daughters, as well as sons!” 
she broke out again. Beware! Beware, Becky! 
You’re in the line of danger! Gallows do I see, and 
chains! A warning! A clear warning ! Take heed, 
my daughter! Take heed!” 

The vision had spent itself, and seemed to have 
well-nigh broken its medium. When the old witch 
came back to consciousness she did not seem to 
remember what had transpired. But the melan- 
[388] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


choly foreboding remained, and all the ingenuity 
of Becky’s art failed to drive it away. 

Early on the next morning the Keelby witch 
returned home. The old Jewess climbed Steep 
Hill with her. Well beyond the Roman Gate the 
women bade each other good-speed, and kissed 
farewell. 

“Now, have a care, Becky, you scamp! Do lie 
low!” admonished the older woman. “Remember 
that the fox that hunts only o’ dark nights lasts the 
longest, and has the most to eat. An you will, 
you’re bigger than the fates, but you will have to rise 
early and sit up late to keep ahead! You must be 
more careful! No need to beard Tressilian in his 
den! The Devil will get him without your help! 
If you interfere the Devil may take you, too!” 

“Green Devil, mother, or Black?” quirked 
Becky, a little more than willing to make light of 
her mother’s forebodings. 

“Green, Black or Red, matters little,” retorted 
the old woman, a sickly smile playing among the 
wrinkles of her face, “if they once get the chain 
tau-t about your neck, or if they keep you under 
too long on the ducking-stool! Have a care, I 
tell you, Becky, have a care. Witches as flip as 
you have come to grief!” 

So did the strange women part, and the Keelby 
witch took the Ermine Street homeward. At her 
heels stalked an enormous grizzly deerhound, of 
fearful limb and fang, alert, faithful to his mistress, 
and, evidently well under her masterful control. 

[389] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


It must also be related that the witch carried in 
her bosom her favorite Angora Black Cat. The 
portents were so thick these days, that it behooved 
her to keep at hand the full protection of her lore. 


[390] 


CHAPTER XXV. BLACK CAT 







































































































- 


•J. •. 


























































































































































































' 













































































































































































































































CHAPTER XXV 


BLACK CAT 

IN WHICH THE STRANGE INCIDENTS CHRONICLED 
WOULD SEEM TO MAKE IT APPEAR THAT A WARN- 
ING GIVEN AND A WARNING HEEDED MAY BE TWO 
QUITE DIFFERENT THINGS, IN THE AFFAIRS OF 
WITCHES AS WELL AS OF COMMON FOLK 

The day following the sentencing of Guilbert de 
Rouen, the Ermine Street northward from Lincoln 
was safe with travel. Following the Keelby witch, 
company after company of travelers, some on 
foot and others on horseback, passed under the 
old Roman arch, bound for the north. Knights, 
squires, and yeomen took the road gaily together. 
Franklins, reeves, millers, merchants, and plowmen, 
enlivened their travel with many a spicy tale. 
Men-at-arms trudged with forest archers in Lin- 
coln green, and, on much improved plans, they 
fought again many a bloody foreign field. Monks 
and nuns kept company with preaching friars, and 
their contentions filled the woods with argument, 
while those among them indisposed to argue, sang 
many a rollicking song. Knots of dejected villeins 
held the road homeward, meanwhile bewailing the 
rising that had failed, and lamenting the certainly 
impending fate of Guilbert de Rouen. 

In the afternoon of that day Dean Fletcher, 

[ 393 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


accompanied by Brother Geoffrey, started north- 
ward. As they passed under one of the two flank- 
ing posterns of the Roman Arch they admired 
the imposing span. They noted the trade marks 
of the craftsmen who had built the arch, the 
tool marks being still visible on the faces of the 
huge blocks of stone. 

“ Strong men built this,” said Brother Geoffrey. 

“ Romans! Pagans!” answered the Dean. “ It 
was one of the gateways of their city-camp, and 
they built it long before there were monks in the 
land!” 

The two monks overtook a band of yeomen on 
the road, and, since it would be dark before they 
could reach Thornton and footpads might then be 
abroad, doubtless it was prudence which led the 
Dean to accept the yeomen’s invitation to travel 
in their company. 

The day was hallowe’en, when, from time im- 
memorial, fairies, witches, and other occult imps 
of the air move topsy-turvily among the affairs of 
men. But peace reigned on the Ermine Street that 
afternoon, except where the fates would have it 
that a round dozen of Tyrwhit men rode close 
behind a troop of Rosses. There, all day the old 
family feud burned fiercely between the bitter 
partisans. Twice during the day had the quarrel 
abandoned words for quarter-staves and stones, 
which weapons had like to have been supplanted in 
the fight by the use of bows and arrows. 

Toward evening both parties were riding hard 

[394] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


hoping to reach home before nightfall, when they 
came in sight of a bridge which spanned a slug- 
gish stream that ran across the road. Both spurred 
for the empty honor of crossing the bridge first, 
and the Ross men won the race. Eager to exasper- 
ate the Tyrwhits, the Rosses crossed the bridge very 
leisurely. The temper of the waiting Tyrwhit men 
was not improved by the shouts of triumph, the 
epithets of contempt, and the rude taunts which 
the victors hurled backward as they crossed the 
bridge. These verbal missiles the Tyrwhits re- 
turned with lively interest. However, the strife 
between the partisans would soon come to a natural 
end, for at the next cross-roads the Tyrwhit men 
would turn eastward into a forest road to Ketilby 
Hall, a mile or two away, while the Rosses would 
ride northward several miles farther before they 
would turn out of the road to their homestead 
under the lee of the big hill. 

A long while after the event, until, indeed, it 
became a well-established tradition, the country- 
side stoutly maintained that it was hallowe’en 
hobgoblins that slackened Tom Thor’s saddle-girth 
so that it slipped. What else could it be? Tom 
kept the saddle till the troop came to the cross- 
roads, and a few paces beyond he dismounted. As 
he tightened the offending girth, a strange thing 
happened. A great, hairy black cat, with big, 
lustrous eyes, sprang fearlessly out of the woods, 
and, with a couple of graceful lopes, alighted at the 
trooper’s feet, where, with arched back and curved 
[395] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tail, he rubbed affectionately against Tom’s legs, 
after the time-honored manner of cats. All the 
Ross men saw the evil omen, and held their breath. 
Tom swore a great round oath, and would have 
kicked the cat away, but that he knew that dire 
ill luck would follow. 

The Tyrwhit men, riding up at that instant, 
found in the situation a golden opportunity for a 
final fling. 

“Ho! Ho! Black Cat, there!” cried a Tyrwhit 
wag. “Hallowe’en it is, and Tom’s steed for 
his midnight ride is ready! Clap on the saddle, 
Tom! Ride, man! Black cats and witches’ foals 
are proper mounts for Rossmen! May your forays 
be pleasant, Tom, when you ride the witch’s nag 
on midnight raids, with the Green Devil himself 
for rein mate!” 

Immediately the air filled with warlike taunts 
and threats. Every man’s hand flew to his weapon, 
and blood would certainly have been shed had not 
young Ross spurred between the two troops and 
commanded his retainers to move forward. The 
Tyrwhit troop took the cross-road, jeering as they 
rode away, and the two factions kept up their wordy 
challenges until the intervening forest drowned 
their voices. 

The Ross men pushed on, breathing their horses 
at a walk, and as they rode they affected to make 
merry of the advent of the black cat. The spell 
of hallowe’en being upon them, the men began to 
tell ghost stories in a lightsome and disbelieving 

[396] 


i 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


vein. The bogle that walked down the dell with 
its head tucked under its arm; the ghost of the 
old squire that sat at the end of the kitchen table 
every morning and laced its gaiters, before it van- 
ished outdoors; the nightly smashing of tons of 
crockery in the pantry where the serving-man was 
found dead with his throat cut; the wraith that 
wailed among the white mists that rose on the 
moat at Newstead Abbey; and the specter knight 
that tilted against the full moon when the sky 
was cloudy — all these tales came up with various 
emphasis of discredit as the troop followed the 
homeward road. Black cat was nothing to these 
men, and they did not believe in ghosts! Never- 
theless, each tale produced its appropriate crop 
of shivers, and unconsciously the troopers had 
made themselves ready to see things at night! 

Tom Thor rode uneasily in his saddle, and the 
local ghost stories did not allay his apprehensions. 
Ben Bolt, Tom’s stirrup mate, sought to stir him to 
a livelier mood. 

“ Black cat’s naught, ” said Ben, slapping Tom on 
the back. “Take no notice of him!” 

“Hang the black witch-cat!” exclaimed Tom, 
petulantly and resentfully. “Have done with the 
devil’s tabby! Talk never mends ill.” 

Thus would have closed the incident but for the 
fact that at that very moment Black Cat again 
sprang out of the wood, and leaped across the road 
through the troop. As the fates would have it, 
again the creature of ill omen crossed immediately 
[ 397 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


in front of Tom Thor’s horse, and then it disap- 
peared in the brush on the opposite side of the 
road. 

Nobody knew better than the Rossmen, how 
unlucky it was to meet a black cat, and well did 
they also know that to cross a black cat’s trail, 
especially before the scent was cold, would precipi- 
tate worlds of evil upon the person unfortunate 
enough to take the fateful step. The troop halted 
in the road as though it were confronted by a stone 
wall. 

“Tom rides with the witches tonight!” whispered 
the men one to another under their breath, as cold 
shivers ran down their backs. 

Tom sat uneasily in his saddle while his horse 
pranced about uncannily, and he swore roundly to 
keep up his spirits. But swearing did not appre- 
ciably help matters. The evil omen of Black Cat’s 
trail, all the more potent because the day was 
hallowe’en, still lay across the road, and the devil 
would certainly be to pay. 

Young Ross came to the rescue. “Father heard 
in France,” said he, “that a decoction made from 
the tail and heart of a black witch-cat is proof 
against half the diseases that carry folk off. F rench 
witches carry a phial of it tied about their necks.” 

The old chroniclers uniformly aver that the 
suggestion was certainly of the devil, and that the 
troopers were being supernaturally lured to their 
doom, for, at that very moment Black Cat came 
purring out of the wood, and made straight for 
[ 398 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Tom Thor. Tom turned white as a ghost. But, 
quick to act on the suggestion of young Ross, the 
troopers were out of their saddles in a trice, raining 
stones upon the innocent cause of the offense. 

Then, high above the hubbub, clear and shrill, 
shouted a woman’s voice from the thick of the for- 
est. “Beauty! O Beauty! Beauty, come here!” 

Black Cat fled from the stones toward the voice, 
but the stones fell so thick and fast that he was 
driven up a tree. As the cat clambered up the hole, 
a stone struck him full and hard. The cat uttered 
a shrill weird cry that seemed to the superstitious 
men to be like unto the shriek of a man being 
wrenched on the rack. 

The troopers had good reason to remember the 
voice of Black Cat, for it was the signal for another 
and an awful sound that immediately filled the 
woods, and that struck terror to the hearts of them 
all — the deep, full bay of a huge hound full cry and 
close upon his quarry. There was a sound of leap- 
ing and plunging through the under brush, and then 
out into the open leaped the Keelby witch’s ter- 
rible deerhound. In two gigantic bounds the hound 
was among the dismounted troopers, and before 
they realized the horror of it, the ferocious beast 
had Tom Thor by the throat, and was shaking him 
as a terrier shakes a rat. 

* 1 Shoot the brute ! Shoot him, men ! ’ ’ cried young 
Ross, as he mounted his horse by way of discretion. 

The savage brute had left his victim, and was 
leaping for the throat of another man, when an 
[ 399 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


arrow from Ben Bolt’s bow cleft his heart and he 
fell in a heap at the foot of the man who would next 
have felt his fangs. 

Then all the Furies broke loose. The woman’s 
voice, vibrant with the passion of unbridled anger, 
broke out again from the woods. A moment later 
the Keelby witch sprang into the open, and strode 
over to where her hound lay dead. It was not the 
gay lightsome creature who yesternight had danced 
about the hearthstone at the foot of Steep Hill who 
now faced the slayers of her hound, but the well- 
known public witch, rendered grotesque by the art of 
her trade, and made formidable by the suggestion of 
the occult everywhere about her garb and person. 

“A wise woman’s hot curse upon you, takers of 
innocent life, and cowards all,” she shouted, ges- 
ticulating grotesquely, but in a manner calculated 
to inspire fear. 

The witch knelt by the side of the prostrate 
hound, and laid her cheek affectionately against 
the dog’s neck. When she arose her face and hands 
were smeared with blood. The life-blood of her 
pet set her a-fire, and she sprang to her full height. 
With the sinews of her bare arms taut and her fists 
clenched tight enough to draw blood, she looked 
scornfully upon the circle of men about her. 

“Nice men!” she cried, with tense passion. 
“Soldiers brave! War against cats and dogs! 
Put live men in front of you, and I’ll warrant you 
would all run! Cowards all, I say! Cowards — 
every mother’s son of you!” 

[400] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


She advanced a step or two, and the men gave 
way before her. At that moment she might have 
gone free. But the passionate tide of anger surged 
up again within her, and, livid with rage, she turned 
to pour vitriolic curses upon the troopers. 

“May the foul fiend plague you all the days of 
your life,” she screamed. “May your skin crack 
with hellish dryness, and your flesh dry to powder 
on your bones. May the blasting plagues of Egypt 
pest you and yours forever, by night and by day. 
May dismal owls hoot, and hideous snakes hiss and 
bite, and slimy frogs croak dire disaster for you, 
where’er you be, and what’er you do. And may 
the Red Fiend harry you in life, and in death sweep 
you into the bottomless Pit.” 

The witch’s storm of wrath had a mixed effect 
upon the men she cursed. Already the occult power 
was working. Their flesh began to creep. But 
that Tom Thor lay stretched by the dead dog, and 
that their fighting blood had been touched, every 
man of them would have fled. But some other influ- 
ence was also at work this hallowe’en, and the men 
stood their ground. Perhaps the witch was a little 
surprised that they did not run, for she halted her 
words, and scanned the trees for Black Cat. 

Presently, in a new tone of voice, soothing and 
inviting, she cried, “Beauty, O you, Black Beauty, 
come here! Wicked men shall not hurt you. 
Come here to your mistress, and home we will go! 
Come Beauty! Come!” 

Out from the underbrush glided the black cat. 

[401] 


26 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


As the fates had doubtless fixed it, again the cat 
crossed through the midst of the men, who sepa- 
rated to let the ill-omened creature pass. The 
witch squatted on the ground by the side of her 
dead hound, and took the wounded cat upon her 
lap. The blood that soiled the cat’s glossy coat 
again stirred her pity and execration. Once more 
her voice rang through the forest, this time sharp, 
insistent, penetrating, and commanding. “Satan! 
O, there! Satan! Here, I say, Satan! Forth, old 
wolf! Among them, old fellow! Tear and slay! 
All the fiends are in you! Out fiends, out, I say! 
Tear the two-legged cowards that slew Dane! Sic 
’em! Sic’em! Satan, I say, sic’em!” 

The vehemence of her call had raised the witch 
to her feet, and the black cat stood on her shoulder 
rubbing himself affectionately on her cheek. But 
it was no use. Satan was chained in the witch’s 
house at Roxton Wood, too far away even for a 
witch’s call. Perhaps it was as well for the Rossmen 
that the witch’s door at Roxton Wood was bolted. 

Well the troopers knew of Satan, and his very 
name inspired them with dread. They glanced 
furtively down the road, apprehensive lest the huge 
wolf should appear. Then, when they realized that 
they were free from that danger, they heaved a deep 
sigh of relief. But the witch stood by the dead 
hound, with the black cat on her shoulder as a 
constant menace, and Tom Thor lying prone near 
the body of the hound. 

Ben Bolt, more fearless than the rest, advanced 
[402] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


toward Thor. Mistaking his movement as a 
menace to her hound, the witch shouted, “Touch 
not Dane, you lout, even with your clumsy foot! 
He’s better dead than you are living, and, dead or 
alive, he’s worthier of your heaven! O, invisible 
Satan! Leap on them! Leap on them, I say! 
Fang their very souls, Satan!” 

Then the witch bent over the hound, put her 
arm under its limp neck, and implanted a kiss on 
the dog’s shaggy hair. When she arose there 
were fresh smears of blood on her face, and tears 
might have been seen in her eyes. Then she started 
as if she would proceed on her journey, but, to 
her surprise, the troopers blocked her way. 

“Stand aside, rascallions! Stand aside, or I’ll 
smite you with the jaundice!” the witch cried, 
threateningly, as she advanced a step or two up the 
road. She remembered now Mother Balaset’s 
warning and began to wish herself well out of the 
adventure. 

But the Rosses’ blood was up. They threw cau- 
tion to the winds, and stoutly stood in the witch’s 
way. Young Ross spurred his horse toward the 
witch, and the animal shied and plunged so much 
that its rider well-nigh lost his seat. “Curse the 
witch!” the youth exclaimed, as he struggled to 
bring his horse under control. “She’ll be the un- 
doing of us all!” 

J ust then a chain creaked in the thicket at the side 
of the road a few paces farther on, as the October 
wind swayed the tenant of a gibbet that stood there. 
[ 403 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“No! Hang the witch, and be done with her, 
if we’re all damned for it!” cried Ben Bolt, beside 
himself with rage. It was his arrow that stuck in 
the side of the witch’s dead hound, and his saddle- 
fellow who lay stretched in the road. Ben’s blood 
had reached the boiling point. 

The atmosphere was electric, and Ben Bolt’s 
hot words fell on his comrades’ ears at a moment 
when it was easy for thought to spring to immedi- 
ate fulfillment. In the twinkling of an eye the 
troopers closed in upon the witch. The woman 
fought like a lioness, her eyes blazing fire, her tongue 
heaping scalding imprecations on her assailants, 
all the while fighting valiantly with her clinched 
fists. But it was no use. The odds against her 
were too great. With a thong from a saddle the 
troopers bound her wrists together behind her back, 
and then they dragged her through the thicket to 
the foot of the ghastly gibbet. There they lifted 
the witch into Tom Thor’s empty saddle. Very 
gingerly the troopers shook from the chain the 
grisly remains of the gibbet’s last tenant, and it took 
but a moment to fasten the rusty chain around the 
witch’s neck, whose struggling and screaming served 
only to spur the men to the task. Then a trooper 
slapped the horse on its haunches, and when the 
animal started up, the witch was left swinging by 
the neck, kicking the air wildly, and sputtering 
unintelligible imprecations at the jeering troopers 
who stood by to watch her die. 

“Fetch poor Tom, and let’s go,” commanded 

[404] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


young Ross, when he was satisfied that the witch 
was dead. 

Presently four men returned. “Tom’s not 
dead!” they cried. “His leather stock under the 
collar of his jerkin is what saved him. With leech’s 
care his neck will mend. A close call, but ‘a miss 
is as good as a mile!’ ” 

The witch hung still, swaying only with the even- 
ing wind, and the bones she had displaced seemed 
not more dead. Setting the wounded man on his 
own horse, with comrades riding on either side to 
support him, the Rossmen rode down the hill 
with the dead black cat safe in a saddle bag. 


[405] 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE GREEN DEVIL AND THE RED 


( 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE GREEN DEVIL AND THE RED 

WHICH RECORDS THE STORY OF A STRANGE MOON- 
LIGHT CHASE, AND SETS FORTH THE HOPE, 
THAT, SINCE THE DEVILS FALL OUT, IN THE 
END HONEST FOLK MAY GET THEIR DUE 

Early one morning, a week after the hanging 
of the Keelby witch, Dwarf Henry might have been 
seen in the woods near the Abbey clearing. The 
moon flooded the open space with soft light, and 
cast dark shadows in the thickets.' In the moon- 
light the Dwarf presented a most grotesque ap- 
pearance, for from head to foot he was habited 
in the flaming red of the Devil of a Miracle Play. 
Out of his head grew two formidable horns, and 
the end of the conventional tail of the stage devil 
was tucked way under his red belt. On his face 
he wore a mask with a very prominent nose, and 
the false face had been so smeared with phosphorus 
that it shimmered in a most ghostly manner among 
the shadows of the forest. 

The Red Devil picked his way through the forest 
as though he were upon a mission. He walked 
swiftly, but he was so wood-wise that his progress 
was almost as noiseless as the movements of a deni- 
zen of the wild. At length he came to a slight 

[409] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


elevation, which was crowned with a clump of 
trees growing in the midst of a thicket. Among 
the trees, sheltered by the thicket, the Red Devil 
ensconced himself so that he was completely hidden 
from view, and so that at the same time he could 
command a view of the surrounding forest. In 
the thicket he found a stout bow and a quiver of 
arrows, which he appropriated as though they had 
been placed there for his particular use. It was 
very evident that Red Devil waited for something, 
or for somebody. So still was he that the wild 
things of the forest came out into the open, and, 
save for the distant barking of dogs and the far- 
away cry of a pack of wolves, primeval silence 
reigned in the forest. 

The sharp report of a snapping twig under foot, 
followed immediately by the rustle of a pocket of 
dry leaves, brought the Red Devil to a most watch- 
ful attention. Quickly and silently his eye ranged 
the complete circle of his vision. Nothing was in 
sight, but a smothered expression of disgust, oc- 
casioned, probably, by the snapping twig, served 
to rivet the Red Devil’s eyes upon a certain blind 
trail in the forest. Presently there appeared in 
the trail a most remarkable object, at the sight of 
which the Red Devil breathed deeply and clutched 
his bow, but made not a sound. The strange appari- 
tion hugged the shadows, and it glided from thicket 
to thicket so silently, that, but for the mischance 
of the broken twig, it might have passed for a 
footless shadow. Presently, the movements of 
[410] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the queer being led it out into the open, and the 
moonlight revealed a figure which was an exact 
counterpart of the Red Devil, except that, from 
crown to toe, the newcomer was habited in green. 
The Green Devil was moving in the direction of 
the Abbey, while the Red Devil secretly watched 
his every movement. 

The matins bell at the Abbey rang out, clear, 
slow, and solemn, and at the sound the Green 
Devil quickened his pace, whereat the Red Devil 
indulged in an inaudible chuckle. The Green 
Devil still hugged the shadows, and ever and anon 
he glanced backward, as though it were as impor- 
tant to him that retreat should not be cut off as 
that his advance should continue open. As he 
approached the edge of the wood, the timber be- 
came more sparce, and, ahead, the moonlight 
gleamed in the open clearing in which stood the 
Abbey. The Green Devil stood a moment in the 
thick shadow of a beech and looked about sharply, 
as though to assure himself that his movements 
were unobserved, which precaution the Red Devil 
seemed particularly to enjoy. At length the 
Green Devil made straight for a stately elm standing 
apart in a thicket of blackthorn. On the edge of 
the thicket he took a short, winding trail to the elm. 
When he reached the shade of the tree, the Green 
Devil scrutinized his entire circle of vision two or 
three times, and then, apparently well satisfied 
that there was no eye to note his movements, he 
proceeded leisurely to unstring his bow; which 

Uni 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


simple action seemed to afford the Red Devil 
considerable satisfaction. 

By this time the Red Devil had arisen to his 
feet, and shielded by the trunk of a tree, he watched 
his green double at a distance of not more than a 
hundred yards. It so happened that the moon- 
light fell full upon the tree by which the Green 
Devil stood, and consequently that most of the 
Green Devil’s movements were open to the invisi- 
ble watcher. The Red Devil plainly saw the Green 
Devil unstring his bow, and wrap the string about 
the weapon as he placed it in a hollow of the tree. 

“You will not need it again!” the Red Devil 
said to himself, as he watched the Green Devil’s 
precautions. He seemed to be greatly enjoying 
the moonlight pantomime which Green Devil uncon- 
sciously provided for him. 

The Red Devil watched the Green Devil unbuckle 
his belt, and he saw him hang it with its full quiver 
of arrows on a peg in the hollow of the tree. Evi- 
dently the Green Devil would leave these weapons 
handy for another day. Then the Green Devil 
seated himself on a boulder at the foot of the tree, 
and proceeded to divest himself of his snug habit. 
He speedily unlaced his leggings, then unbuttoned 
his close-fitting vest, and loosened the green mask 
that hid his face. 

The Red Devil watched these movements silently 
and with bated breath. He was so absorbed in 
the toilet of the Green Devil, who at that moment 
was struggling to extricate his limbs from their 
[412] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tight casings, and had become so excited at the 
ludicrous situation, that inadvertently he stepped 
on a dry twig, and the twig snapped with a loud 
report. The effect on both Devils was instanta- 
neous and marvelous. Sudden panic seized the 
Green Devil. He glanced up and saw the Red 
Devil arising out of the thicket, and the unearthly 
shimmer of the Red Devil’s face left no doubt in 
the Green Devil’s mind that the real Devil was 
upon him. Without stopping to seize a weapon, 
with one huge bound the Green Devil cleared the 
thicket, and, like a stag started by the hounds, ran 
straight for the clearing and the Abbey. Nor did 
the Red Devil hesitate. With a hideous yell that 
served to redouble his quarry’s speed, he leaped 
out of the thicket and followed hot upon the Green 
Devil’s trail. 

The first few bounds of the Green Devil’s flight 
were hampered by his attempt, either to divest 
himself of his green, or to readjust the half-detached 
garments so that he could the better run, and also 
so as to maintain intact his disguise. But an arrow 
that whizzed close by his ear, and a moment later 
splintered in an oak ahead of his course, had the 
effect of centering his attention upon the single 
business of running, and he left his garments to 
fly about in such ludicrous fashion as his greyhound- 
like bounds might throw them! It seemed a pity 
that the Green Devil’s bow was safely hidden in 
the elm. Had it been otherwise, there might have 
been a pretty exhibition of archery in the woods, 
[ 413 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


with a life for a stake, and no one by to witness the 
fine shooting. Perhaps the Green Devil would 
have been too scared to shoot. But he was not 
too scared to run! There was the more need to 
run, in that the Red Devil undoubtedly gained on 
him. When he realized this, the Green Devil 
gritted his teeth, muttered a half-smothered and 
vitriolic curse, and by a superhuman effort further 
increased his speed. 

Still the Red Devil gained on the Green. The 
Green was out in the open now, and not fifty yards 
behind him the Red closed in on him at every stride. 
Singularly enough, the Green Devil headed straight 
for the Gate House. But the bridge was up, and 
the keeper in the tower was doubtless dreaming 
of the catch of fish he would make on Thursday. 
There appeared to be no hope that the bridge would 
drop for either the Green Devil or the Red, and 
thirty feet of moat lay like a band of silver about 
the Abbey’s grey walls. But neither the bridge 
that was up, nor the porter who slept, nor the moat 
that was deep, served to swerve or to discourage 
the Green Devil in his course. He kept a straight 
swift course for the Gate House. Once, for only a 
moment, it looked as though the Red Devil might 
halt a second to wing another arrow. But upon 
second thought he flung the bow far from him, 
and added another spurt to his record. He would 
not risk another shot. 

Some score or more yards on this side the moat, 
two large beeches stood apart, straight in the line 

[414] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


of the Green Devil’s flight. When he emerged 
from the shadow of the beeches the Green Devil 
bore in his hands a long slender leaping pole, and 
with it in position, an evil smile of triumph playing 
on his face, he ran straight at the moat, after the 
time-honored fashion of fen folk. It indicated an 
uncanny and supernatural prescience on the part 
of the Red Devil, in keeping with his habitation and 
vocation, that he swerved in his course just sufficient 
so as to pass beneath the other beech. There, 
leaning against the trunk and ready to his hands, 
he found another leaping pole, as like the one in 
Green Devil’s hands as one pea is like another, and 
a grim smile of satisfaction and triumph played on 
his face beneath the red mask! If there was a leap- 
ing pole ready for one Devil, there was also one pro- 
vided for the other, and as yet the race belonged to 
either Devil. 

When the Green Devil was midair in his vault 
over the moat, his disordered green flippant in 
the morning breeze, the Red Devil was making the 
last half dozen short quick strides before planting 
his pole for the leap. The Green Devil landed 
squarely on the narrow strip of turf at the foot of 
the wall, turned the sharp angle at the corner, and 
held on down the south wall of the Abbey towards 
the old disused Gate House. The Red Devil 
landed but a moment later upon the selfsame spot, 
and, gurgling something in his throat that suggested 
the fury of the underworld, he followed his quarry 
along the foot of the wall. 

[415] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


When the Green Devil reached the old Gate 
House, a key was ready in his hand, and when the 
Red Devil came upon him he had the postern gate 
ajar and was dashing through. But the Red Devil 
was too quick for the Green. The Red Devil 
seized the Green Devil by the shoulder, and threw 
himself upon him like a tiger. For a full minute, 
Red and Green swayed and clawed and gripped 
together in the postern gate, half within the Abbey 
and half without. Neither spoke a word, but as 
they joined in the deadly wrestle the fierce passion 
of death was in the grip of them both. 

Then, as it were by superhuman strength, the 
Green Devil threw the Red Devil from him outside 
the postern. But the Red clung to the garments 
of the Green, and the action was accompanied by 
a ripping, tearing sound, and when the red monster 
broke away, he carried in his hand the upper por- 
tion of the Green Devil’s disguise. Through the 
open postern the moonlight shone through the ripped 
disguise full upon the face of a man. The fearful 
face was ashy pale, and hatchety, and was marked 
by the thin lips of a very firm, wide mouth. And 
where the green was torn away the moonlight clearly 
revealed the black habit of an Austin Canon ! 

Quick as lightning the postern snapped into its 
place, and was bolted from the inside. But the 
Red Devil had seen the face, and most surely he 
would not forget it, though on the other side the 
postern the Green Devil congratulated himself that 
he had not been recognized. 

[416] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


A little while the Red Devil sat upon the ground 
before the gate through which his strange quarry 
had gained ingress to the Abbey. He was very 
quiet, and seemed to be absorbed in thought. Per- 
haps, however, he was simply resting after his hard 
chase. Or it may be that his inaction was the result 
of disappointment. When he spoke, the words 
that dropped from his lips were strange and un- 
couth, passionately hot with lusty heat. They 
were black, foreign oaths, blood-curdling vows of 
vengeance, and sentiments fitter for the Pit than 
for the earth. They sounded like samples of 
liquid lava from a secret lake of human fire. 

After a while the Red Devil’s hot words brought 
him to his feet. Slowly he walked back to the spot 
where the two tell-tale poles lay in the moat. How 
to make the backward leap without the space for 
the necessary run, perplexed him a while. Then 
he saw a way. He dried his own pole by drawing 
it across his knee until the dry surface presented 
a firm grip for his hands. Then he retraced his 
Steps back to the angle of the enclosure, which he 
turned, and continued on till he was half-way back 
to the old Gate House. Then he turned about, 
and on the strip of sward at the foot of the wall he 
made the run to the moat, planted his pole, and 
successfully vaulted clear of the water. Then, 
straightway the Red Devil disappeared in the 
woods. 

When the Red Devil was quite certainly gone, a 
monk, with his hood drawn far over his head (for 

[417] 


27 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the early morning air was nipping cold), stole out 
of the Abbey at the old postern gate. With fine 
caution the monk footed the narrow path by the 
wall to the spot where the Green Devil’s pole still 
lay in the moat as that strange apparition had left 
it. The monk secured the pole, and hastened with 
it to the postern, through which he carried it into 
the enclosure, though what use a monk might 
have for the Green Devil’s leaping pole hardly 
appears in the rubrics! 

The Red Devil returned hastily to the hollow tree 
by which he had surprised the Green Devil. He 
tore aside the cunningly devised screen of bark, 
and peered into the opening. 

“ ’Tis his arsenal!” he exclaimed. “He will 
need such tools no more!” he added, as he rubbed 
his hands together in glee. 

The tree was a veritable cache. It contained 
cooking-utensils that would have served a small 
camp of followers. Three or four stout full-length 
bows hung in the tree close by quivers filled with 
arrows which were void of all marks by which their 
owners might have been identified. Curious knives 
were there in plenty, every one of them ground 
sharp and evidently much used. A leather bag 
bulged with money, and a large bunch of keys 
might have unlocked half the treasure houses of the 
country side. There hung in the hollow sundry 
garments of various shapes and colors, which had 
evidently served as Green Devil’s disguises while 
he was on his different secret quests. 

[418] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The Dwarf took off his own disguise. “I believe 
he thought that I was the real devil!” he said 
laughingly. “He’ll be scared to death when once 
he is cornered ! The blackguard has no heart ! ’ ’ 
Then the Dwarf carefully folded the torn frag- 
ments of the Green Devil’s disguise, and put the 
package into his bosom. He took the full purse, 
and also one of the bows and a couple of quivers with 
their arrows. 

“These tell-tales will I take with me!” he said 
unto himself. “They will hang him! I have him. 
The cunning devil! But he’ll hang! He’ll hang 
just as sure as I’m a dwarf!” So speaking, the 
Dwarf strode toward the Manor House. 


[419] 


I 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE INSTALLATION OF AN ABBOT 










CHAPTER XXVII 


THE INSTALLATION OF AN ABBOT 

IN WHICH A SLIP BETWEEN CUP AND LIP IS ATTENDED 
WITH ASTOUNDING RESULTS, AND OPERATES IN 
SUCH A MANNER AS CLEARLY TO INDICATE THAT 
NEMESIS HAS NOT FORGOTTEN HIS DUTY 

Shortly after Dwarf Henry’s nocturnal adventure 
it might have been imagined that something unusual 
was afoot within the Abbey. From morn till night 
the great doors remained closed, and the bridge, 
even during daylight, was more often up than down. 
Travellers who sought the wonted hospitality of 
the Abbey were turned away bootless at the Gate 
House. The few canons who walked abroad wore 
a preoccupied air, and barely passed even the small 
change of the weather with those they chanced 
to meet in the way. 

The reason for this new temper lay in the fact 
that two days later than the secret advent of the 
Green Devil within the Abbey, the Brotherhood of 
Thornton had solemnly elected Dean Fletcher to 
the Abbot’s chair. The record of the election duly 
showed that Abbot Thomas had resigned the office, 
and had unaccountably disappeared from the 
Abbey. In view of the approaching solemnity 
the Abbot-Elect had invited the Brotherhood to a 

[423] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


season of special fasting and prayer, and to a closer 
withdrawal from intercourse with the wicked world, 
as was befitting such an extraordinary occasion. 
That the tightened discipline sealed the news of the 
election from the outside world, and so kept the 
Bishop ignorant of the course of events until after 
Dean Fletcher should actually be seated in the 
Abbot’s chair, need hardly be assigned a secondary 
place among the motives that prompted the Dean’s 
actions in the matter. 

The day before the installation, the Abbot-Elect 
went upon a tour of inspection through the Abbot’s 
house in order to view his new official residence. 
The house had been thoroughly cleaned and 
repaired, under the direction of Brothers Geoffrey 
and Benedict, and those two members of the Thorn- 
ton Brotherhood accompanied the Abbot-Elect 
upon his tour. The Dean was especially interested 
in new tapestry which covered the walls of the 
hall, and which entirely hid a certain section of 
masonry where aforetime a door had opened from 
the hall into Abbot Thomas’s bedroom. 

“I like it well,” said the Dean to Geoffrey. 
“The design is fine, and the needlework beyond 
praise.” He ran his eye critically over the design. 
“Sir Galahad, then, fails to find the Holy Grail?” 
he said, and an uneasy laugh lurked in the Dean’s 
voice. 

“I think the space ran out, Father Abbot,” 
Brother Geoffrey replied. “ Or surely the cup would 
have been stitched into Sir Galahad’s hand. It 

[424] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


needs another panel, and you see we have all the 
wall covered. Perhaps we can find a place for 
Sir Galahad in your room.” 

The three drifted into the Abbot’s sitting room, 
and the Dean carefully closed the door. An 
awkward silence hung among the three a moment 
or two, then Brother Geoffrey spoke, quietly, but 
uneasily. “He must have been dead a long while 
now,” said he, as he jerked his thumb toward 
Father Thomas’s old bedroom. 

Dean Fletcher affected a jaunty air. “Aye, 
and his tomb’s sealed tight!” he answered lightly. 
“There’ll be no whiff of him for nose, or ear, or eye, 
till the crack of doom! Unless Gabriel blows his 
trumpet extra loud, I’m a- thinking that Abbot 
Thomas will be missing at the resurrection!” 

“All the better for us!” exclaimed Brother 
Geoffrey. The Dean moistened his lips, and, rising, 
led the way out, where the air was fresher and where 
he seemed to be more at ease. As he went down 
the front steps he said unto himself, “I think I 
will not change quarters yet awhile. The Deanery 
will be more comfortable!” 

On the following day the Matins bell awoke the 
Abbot-Elect from fitful slumber. Now that the 
goal of his ambition was so near, the man seemed 
to be nervous. Tramp, tramp, tramp, shuffle, 
shuffle, shuffle, many feet sounded across the garth 
as the Brotherhood threaded the cloisters toward 
the church. “St. John has charge till after Prime, ” 
the Dean murmured, and turned over in bed for 

[425] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


another sleep, for he was weary, and the day would 
call for strength. 

Sleep proved shy under the Dean’s second wooing, 
and when it did come it was feverish and fitful. 
He lay unquiet on the narrow bed. It seemed 
that he was a boy again. A village street straggled 
across a clearing in the forest. A big, shady swim- 
ming-hole came back into his dreamy conscious- 
ness. Then the last house of the village stood out 
by itself, lonely as though planted in a desert, and 
under its low thatch a mismated father and mother 
ruled a boisterous brood. Yet was his dream so 
strangely mixed that the Dean knit his brows in 
perplexity. A Gentile father and a Jewish mother 
mixed unintelligibly in the fantasies of his dream 
with a hoidenish sister named Becky, who, by her 
madcap pranks, kept the household in an uproar 
of laughter. Many a boyish prank tripped through 
the years and peeped in upon the sleeping man. 
Often the Dean would laugh out aloud. Then he 
would clench his teeth, and strange oaths and curses 
would hiss from his mouth. Sometimes he was 
afoot, and then he would dash across the country 
on horseback. Imminent peril threatened the 
sleeping man, and he held out forfending hands, 
hiding himself behind the back of his hands from 
something that threatened. Then he heaved a 
deep sigh, and behind the sigh there tripped a hearty 
laugh, and the Dean went up many streams a- fish- 
ing, and returned ere sundown with his creel 
bulging with great fish. 

[426] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Prime ringing from the tower awoke the Abbot- 
Elect to his day of triumph. In answer to the 
bell Brother William brought in a lighted candle. 

“Good morning, Abbot Richard,” said Brother 
William, as he placed the brass candlestick upon the 
table. The Abbot-Elect graciously inclined his 
head, and smiled, albeit a little wanly, and, lifting 
his hands pronounced his first Pax Vobiscum as 
Abbot of Thornton, and then Brother William 
retired. 

When he was dressed the Abbot-Elect carefully 
drew the curtains closely across the windows of 
his bedroom. He also lifted the bar across the 
door, and took the further precaution to try the 
door to assure himself that it was fast. Then, 
candle in hand, he crossed the room to the ward- 
robe. There he set the candle upon the table, and 
with his foot pushed aside a wolf skin that, life- 
like, lay upon the floor. After a further glance 
about the room, as though to make sure that his 
movements were not observed, at the spot from 
whence he had kicked the wolf skin, he opened a 
trap door concealed in the floor. Candle in hand, 
the Abbot-Elect disappeared down a flight of stone 
steps which the open trap disclosed. Presently 
there issued from below the sound of voices, — of 
all things in the world, in that place, the voice of a 
man and of a woman , conversing earnestly in low 
tones, and with considerable animation. A note 
of disagreement was largely dominant in their 
conversation. 


[427] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


After an absence of a full quarter of an hour the 
Abbot-Elect reappeared. Perspiration beaded his 
forehead, and he seemed greatly perturbed. “I 
must get her away, or she will ruin me,” he 
muttered, as he closed the door again and drew 
the wolf-skin to its wonted place. Then he added, 
half whimsically and half in earnest, “The Fates 
seem to mix up Thornton Abbots with women!” 

He drew back the curtains, unbolted the door, 
rang the little bell on the table, and shortly Brother 
Geoffrey appeared. The two monks held a confer- 
ence that lasted an entire hour. 

At tierce, the entire Brotherhood of Thornton 
marched to the Chapter House, and there concluded 
the formalities that made Dean Fletcher their 
Abbot. Then, under the eye of Dean Fletcher, 
the monks formed to march into the church for the 
ceremony of installation. The novices and acolytes 
led the solemn procession, youthful and demure, 
and sufficiently impressed with the importance of 
the occasion and with their own share in the pro- 
ceedings of the day, swinging censers and bearing 
candles as they walked. Two by two, they were 
followed by the seasoned monks, slowly moving to 
the rhythm of the great organ in the church. The 
greater officials followed in order, the lesser digni- 
taries first, the higher bringing up the rear. Last 
of all, and alone, as though already he were the 
shepherd of these sheep and were driving them to 
pasture, walked the Abbot-Elect. Amice, alb, 
girdle, maniple, stole, and chasuble, draped over 
[428] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


bright scarlet gowns, with solemn touches of purple 
here and there, distinguished the monks at the 
rear of the procession, and set out the wearers of 
these ecclesiastical regalia for the parts they were 
to bear in the ceremonial. But the Abbot-Elect 
walked in unrelieved sober black, the time for his 
assumption of the gorgeous robes appertaining to 
his new office not having yet arrived. 

Upon leaving the Chapter House the monks broke 
into a chant. But the Abbot-Elect did not sing. 
His figure was more bent than usual. His thin 
lips were tightly closed, and his eyes were fixed 
upon the pavement. It was his day of triumph, 
but his face showed it not. Rather did it seem that 
the great occasion added a burden which the man 
might prove to be unable to bear, and that in this 
solemn hour his human weakness was so borne in 
upon him that he shrank from the tasks the day 
would usher into his life. 

The Brotherhood of Thornton rose to the occa- 
sion. Never was ritual read more effectively, nor 
psalms better sung. Grandly and solemnly, the 
service swung into the celebration of High Mass. 
Censers swung, and spiral wreaths of incense 
curled to the fretted roof. Little bells tinkled, and, 
in brilliant vestments, the celebrants moved back 
and forth before the high altar, busy about the holy 
offices. Chant and response the choir tossed back 
and forth across the chancel in tones rich with 
feeling, till the sun in the wintry sky cast a faint 
shadow upon the dial on the garth at the Roman 
figure XI. 


[429] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Then came the event to which all this ceremony 
had tended. St. John and Brother William paired 
before the altar. Slowly and solemnly they faced 
the stalls. They marched down the white steps, 
shoulder to shoulder, foot to foot. Straight down 
the chancel they passed between the monks seated 
in their stalls, to where sat the Abbot-Elect, with 
his head buried deep in his hood and bent forward 
upon his breast, evidently in solemn meditation 
as befitted both the man and the occasion. The 
Brothers touched the Abbot-Elect on the shoulders. 
Immediately he straightened himself in his chair, 
threw the hood back upon his shoulders, and arose 
to accompany the escort to the high altar. The 
pair of monks wheeled about in fine form, as though 
they had been a company of halberdiers. They 
led off back to the altar, the Abbot-Elect following, 
his eyes on the pavement, his hands clasped behind 
his back, the living picture of dignified humility. 

The ashy face of the man about to become their 
Abbot touched the heart of the Brotherhood. 
Dean Fletcher was not taking the high office lightly. 
He was duly weighted with the solemn responsi- 
bility the ceremony would thrust upon him. 

As the three passed slowly up the chancel, the 
ritual broke forth again : 

“Who shall ascend unto the hill of God? 

Who shall stand in His holy place? ” 

swelled from the Gospel side of the choir. 

Prompt and triumphant the Epistle replied: 

[ 430 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“He that hath clean hands and a pure heart, 

Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, 
And hath not sworn deceitfully. 

He shall receive — ” 

Then happened a strange thing which halted the 
chant in the midst of its triumph. A few paces 
behind the Abbot-Elect marched a strange monk. 
But for the difference in figure, the stranger being of 
lower stature and larger bulk, the new monk was 
the counterpart of the Abbot-Elect. His eyes, too, 
read on the pavement as he walked, and his should- 
ers were stooped. His hands were clasped humbly 
behind his back and, in his walk, he seemed to 
mimic the monk before him. But there was this 
mysterious difference; the stranger wore his hood 
drawn close about his head, so that none could tell 
whether or not his face was ashy white. 

When the three monks reached the altar and the 
Abbot-Elect was about to kneel, the stranger monk 
came upon them with a quick stride or two, and 
put a firm hand upon the Dean’s shoulder, cryinjg 
with a loud voice, “Hold, you rascal, hold! ” 

The Dean made as though he would throw off 
the hand of the stranger monk, and for a moment it 
looked as though there would be an unseemly 
struggle before the altar. 

“If you move, you wicked coward, I’ll fell you 
to the earth,” the strange monk said. Then, 
turning to the stalls, where the monks leaned for- 
ward in wide-eyed horror, and when some had 
already risien to their feet, he lifted his hand with a 

[431 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


gesture of authority, and said: “Let the installation 
of the new Abbot stop, here and now. Hear me, 
you men of Thornton. In this public place, before 
the high altar, in the presence of you all, I do 
denounce Dean Fletcher, now, forsooth, Abbot- 
Elect of Thornton Abbey, as an unmitigated wicked 
scoundrel ! Hold ! ” he cried, as en masse , the monks 
arose in the stalls, about to rush upon him. “Hold, 
I say! Sit still, every soul of you! Hear me till 
I’m done. I’m only one man. When I have had 
my say you may do to me what you will.” 

Then, turning to the Abbot-Elect, who had sunk 
into a pitiful limp heap on the step by the altar, and 
was evidently in great distress, he pointed his finger 
squarely in his face. “There, cowering on the 
altar step, shaking with the ague of a wicked man’s 
fear, weak now as a woman, and wicked as the 
devil himself — there sits the Green Devil, whose 
lust and greed have plundered amongst us these 
three years! Nay, stay there, Dean Fletcher! 
Move not, and speak not a word till I have had my 
say! Hear me what I say! I’ll thrust your 
Green Devil crimes home to you, you clever fiend, 
so that, monk though you be, you’ll hang, or 
worse!” 

Turning to the stalls, the stranger monk flung 
off his Austin habit, and lo! Dwarf Henry of the 
Manor House stood before the astounded monks! 
But neither his misshapen body, nor his reputation 
among them for prankishness, nor his constant 
association with the monks as an every-day clown, 

[432] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


counted for aught this day. He dominated the 
situation as though he were a stalwart knight or 
were the veritable Bishop of the diocese. 

With an upraised hand the Dwarf stilled the out- 
cry of surprise among the monks. “Hear me 
further, neighbors mine,” he cried. “I have in- 
disputable proof that Dean Fletcher and the Green 
Devil are one and the same person!” 

Words fail to picture the consternation and com- 
motion that ensued. The Dwarf alone remained 
calm. “Follow me, for proof,” he said, advancing 
down the steps. “Good St. John, do you bring 
along Dean Fletcher. Suffer him not to escape, on 
peril of your life to the king. Nay, Dean Fletcher, 
an you try to escape I myself will fell you to the 
ground! Here, there, half a dozen of you stalwart 
Brothers, form bodyguard for Dean Fletcher, — 
guard of honor!” he added, with a flash of his old 
wit, — “Take him over to the Deanery. The rest 
may follow, an’ you will, but see that Dean Fletcher 
gives you not the slip.” 

The monks followed in a fashion not according 
to the rubrics. They did not stop to lay aside their 
altar vestments. As the crowd surged across the 
garth Brothers Geoffry and Benedict, the Dean’s 
right-hand men, glided unobserved to the Gate 
House. At their command the porter lowered the 
bridge, and speedily the twain disappeared into 
the woods fearing, as may be supposed, that the 
strange revelations of Dwarf Henry might involve 
their own safety. 


28 


[433] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


In the Dean’s House the Dwarf led the way 
straight to the wardrobe. He was followed by St. 
John with the prisoner, and by such monks as 
could crowd indoors. The rest of the Brotherhood 
swarmed about the Deanery outside, and had to 
be content with such news of what happened indoors 
as could be passed to them by those inside. 

The Dwarf evidently knew his way about. With 
his foot he pushed aside the wolf-skin from the 
trap door, whereupon Dean Fletcher fell into a 
swoon that certainly was not simulated. 

“Douche his face with cold water, — plenty of it 
— he’ll come to in a little while. He’s scared a 
little, but he’ll recover in time to be hanged!” 
exclaimed the Dwarf cheerily. 

When some one brought a lighted torch, the 
Dwarf took it, and he led the way down the stone 
steps, a dozen monks following close after him. 
St. John and the guards kept watch by the prisoner 
in the bedroom, and waited developments. 

All doubt of the Dean’s guilt vanished the 
moment the light from the torch fell upon the walls 
of the subterranean chamber, which the Dean had 
ventilated and used as a treasure house. Stowed 
away on shelves flanking the walls lay a hundred 
articles that had been plundered by the Green 
Devil during his raids. There they lay, mute 
evidence of the foulest guilt, proof of crime enough 
to hang a hundred men. Heavy silver service 
plundered from a dozen churches; the gold-em- 
broidered vestments stolen six months ago from 
[434] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


St. Botolph’s at Boston, when the Green Devil 
had raided the town ; rich silks and woolens that had 
swelled pedlers’ packs when the Green Devil had 
relieved the unfortunate pedlers of pack and of 
life; trinkets in gold and in silver whose loss was 
still mourned by the fair dames of the countryside 
— all lay before them. There could be no mistak- 
ing the evidence. The monks could read it more 
plainly than they could read the black letters of the 
Breviary. 

A stifled sob issued from the farthest corner of 
the room. The Dwarf stood still and listened, and 
the monks held their breath, the situation was so 
very uncanny. 

It was the Dwarf who investigated. Holding 
the torch high in the air he proceeded cautiously 
in the direction whence came the sound. Presently 
in the gloom at the farthest corner of the room he 
distinguished a straw pallet, and on the pallet lay 
stretched the form of a woman! In sheer astonish- 
ment the Dwarf blew a shrill whistle, and walked 
gingerly over to the pallet. The woman’s face 
was turned to the wall, and her body was con- 
vulsed with sobs which she was doing her best to 
smother. Moreover her neck was swathed with 
heavy bandages. It was quite evident that she 
was sick. When the Dwarf put his hand upon her 
shoulder she turned from the wall, and the light 
from the torch fell full upon her face. A cry of 

[435] 




THE GREEN DEVIL 

surprise escaped the Dwarf’s lips. The monks 
crowded to the bedside, horrified, for they not only 
looked upon the face of a woman under Dean 
Fletcher’s apartments, but the woman’s face was 
that of the notorious Keelby witch! 


[436] 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 
THE ORDEAL BY BREAD 





































CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE ORDEAL BY BREAD 

WHEREIN A SUPERSTITIOUS ANCIENT JUDICIAL 
PROCESS WORKS OUT SUBSTANTIAL JUSTICE, AND 
THE MORAL SEEMS TO BE THAT, WHEREIN VICE 
FALLS SHORT OF BEING ITS OWN PUNISHMENT, 
ETERNAL JUSTICE STEPS IN TO HEAP UP WHAT IS 
LACKING OF FULL MEASURE 

When the Dwarf returned upstairs, the Dean 
had revived, and was sitting between his guards 
biding the issue with dogged silence. The monks 
spread on the table an armful of the evidence of 
his guilt, but the Dean spoke not a word. He 
only moistened his lips, and, with his eyes fixed 
on the floor, awaited developments. His thin 
face was white and haggard and bore marks of 
suffering, but something of defiance still lurked in 
his eyes. As Dwarf Henry approached him, the 
Dean winced and again moistened his lips with 
his tongue, then he braced himself ajid looked the 
Dwarf in the eye. 

“Dean Fletcher,” said the Dwarf, — and all 
trace of levity was gone from his voice. — “In the 
presence of these witnesses, I do hereby charge 
that the Green Devil and Dean Fletcher are one 
and the same person.” 

[439] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


The monks who crowded about the room had 
been silent while the Dwarf spoke, and now there 
arose among them an angry buzz which chilled the 
Dean to the marrow. 

In a moment the Dwarf put up his hand, and 
again silence fell upon the room, broken only by 
the deep breathing of the monks. “This green 
garment,” said he, “I myself tore from Dean 
Fletcher the other morning as he came back to 
the Abbey after one of his Green Devil forays!” 
As he spoke the Dwarf held aloft the torn frag- 
ment he had plucked from Green Devil’s dis- 
guise the morning he had chased him into the 
Abbey. At sight of the green the monks became 
greatly excited. 

Then the Dwarf picked a green garment from 
the table. “This green garment,” he continued, 
“we discovered down stairs just now. See! It 
is the Green Devil’s well-known disguise! Note 
well, how the garment is torn! See, this frag- 
ment of mine fits exactly into the rent, even to 
these few drawn threads! Here are the hanging 
threads — one, two, three, four, five warp threads, 
and five places in the woof from whence the warp 
was torn! This rent garment, and all this other 
Green Devil plunder, is evidence ehough to hang 
a hundred men! What answer make you, Dean 
Fletcher? Speak promptly ! ” 

Slowly the Dean arose to his feet, and solemnly 
his hand took the position of a person taking an 
oath. “Brethren of the Abbey, and you, Dwarf 
[ 440 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Henry of the Manor House, hear me, one and all,” 
he said. “I am not the Green Devil. Truly I am 
not guilty of these crimes. Circumstances seem to 
be against me, but give me time and I will prove 
my innocence. All I need is a little time and the 
mystery will clear itself. It would seem that, to 
cover their own evil deeds, all unbeknown to me 
others have used my house to hide their crimes. 
I have naught to do with them, or with their evil 
plunder. This is the first time I have seen these 
trinkets, so help me God. And about the rent 
garment — Dwarf Henry is mistaken. It was not I 
— it must have been some other man.” 

“How will you purge yourself of this charge, 
Dean Fletcher?” inquired St. John, very quietly, 
but in a manner indicating that neither he nor his 
question could be turned aside. “The evidence 
seems to be most conclusive, and is not offset by 
mere ingenious denial. You will need to meet the 
charge seriously,” he added, speaking with great 
firmness. 

Dean Fletcher bit his lip, which, moreover, 
seemed to be very dry. Once, twice, three times, 
his tongue shot across his mouth, but the moisture 
would not stay. He glanced around the room un- 
easily. Every face seemed set against him, and 
every avenue of escape appeared to be closed. 

At length, summoning resolution, the Dean said, 
quietly, “I will take the ordeal by bread, and may 
God declare the right.” 

A faint smile flickered across the Dean’s face as 

[441 1 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he spoke, and his decision to take the awful oath 
started a buzz of excited conversation among the 
monks. 

“An hour hence, and in the chancel,” quietly 
announced St. John. “I myself will superintend 
the ordeal.” 

At the word the monks dispersed, discussing the 
strange events as they went. All scattered, 
except the guards, to whom St. John commit- 
ted the care of the Dean until the time of the 
ordeal should arrive. In an incredibly short time 
every monk in the Abbey knew the details of the 
Dean’s exposure, and the shocking facts lost 
nothing as a second scourge of tongues gave them 
currency among the monks. 

The presence of the Keelby witch in the Dean’s 
quarters proved to be a rich morsel under the monks’ 
tongues. The brethren had no knowledge of 
the blood relationship which existed between the 
witch and the Dean. Nor did they know the 
creditable circumstances under which the Dean 
had brought the woman to the Abbey. It would 
seem that, traveling the Ermine Street some little 
distance behind the Rossmen the evening of the 
day following the Lincoln Assize, the Dean and a 
company of his boon companions, who were dis- 
guised that day as honest yeomen, came upon the 
Keelby witch hanging on a gibbet by the roadside, 
shortly after the Rossmen had left her there. 
Finding that her neck was not broken, and that 
life was not extinct, the Dean’s leechcraft succeeded 

[442] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


in restoring her to consciousness. After having 
disguised her as a sick monk, they carried her into 
the Abbey at night, unobserved by the monks. 
There the Dean was secretly nursing her back to 
health when this exposure suddenly turned his 
kindly act into a prime reason for his condemnation. 
For, had not the Brotherhood promptly and ade- 
quately dealt with Abbot Thomas when he had 
miscomported himself with the woman Heloise? 
Not less drastic should be the Chapter’s action 
now that the Dean had fallen before the charms of 
the notorious Keelby witch! Whether the Dean 
cleared himself of the Dwarf’s charge or not, the 
witch would certainly be his undoing! 

To witness the ordeal the total population of the 
Abbey crowded into the church, and, filling the 
chancel, the monks overflowed into the nave. 
Even the watchmen at the Gate House left lock 
and bar and lifted bridge to say, “Nay,” to whom- 
ever might approach the enclosure, and then 
squeezed their way through the throng to witness 
the supernatural ceremony at the church. 

When Dean Fletcher walked up the aisle, with 
his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes on the 
tesselated pavement, and by his side two stalwart 
monks for guards, a great hush fell upon the 
throng. With his guards standing at either side of 
him, the Dean seated himself in a sedile at the 
south end of the altar, from whence he could both 
see and be seen. A smile flitted across his face 
when he noted that Brothers Geoffrey and Bene- 

[443] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


diet were not in their places. It was a good omen, 
since the absentees would not break the silence 
against him, and, moreover, it was Just possible 
that they might succeed in bringing him some aid 
in his extremity. The Dean settled down to wait 
for the ordeal, meanwhile wishing for a score of 
his green archers. Then, how he would scatter the 
pious crowd! So far as his face told the tale, he 
had come to the ordeal with the confidence that the 
test would bring about his vindication. 

The good and gentle St. John moved about the 
high altar preparing for the solemn ceremony. To 
the simple unquestioning religious faith of the 
monks crowding the stalls, the ordeal was supremely 
awesome. To them the consecrated bread was the 
veritable Body of the Lord. It was literally a 
miraculous bit of Almighty God, and the partaking 
of it, even under the ordinary circumstances of the 
Mass, was the most solemn act on earth. The 
mysterious sacrifice of the Mass was to them the 
center and circumference of the supernatural world 
— how much more so in this peculiarly solemn hour ! 
All about the little disc of bread lay a strange and 
uncanny world of things mysterious and powerful. 
Their natural reverence for the solemn rite had 
long since passed into superstition, and the bread 
had become vested with the miraculous properties 
of the touchstone. Each monk stretching his neck 
in the stalls, the better to see every move at the 
altar, knew in his heart, beyond a peradventure, 
that the consecrated Host would infallibly separate 

[444] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the right from the wrong, and correctly fix Dean 
Fletcher’s guilt or proclaim his innocence. Hence 
the impressive silence with which the entire 
Brotherhood watched St. John make the necessary 
preparations at the altar. 

With Dean Fletcher the case stood quite differ- 
ently. In him sheer wickedness had long ago 
destroyed faith, and had also undermined the 
foundation of superstition, so that now he neither 
believed nor feared. Long since, religion had be- 
come to him a mere convenient mask behind which 
he had played a double life. Inwardly, the Dean 
laughed at the solemn preparations for the ordeal, 
and scoffed at the easy faith the monks professed 
in the test which he knew was about to defeat 
justice by proclaiming him innocent. 

It was all very easy! He would take the little 
disc of bread St. John would offer him on the 
paten, and swallow it with as little concern as he 
would eat a venison pasty or drink a horn of the 
Abbey brew! As to the possible intervention of 
the civil arm, if the worse came to the worst he 
would plead “ benefit of Clergy,” and so would 
escape punishment in that quarter, and he had no 
doubt whatever that he would be able to handle 
the less powerful judgments of the church. It was 
a bold play by a bad man for high stakes, and the 
Dean played against odds greater than he knew, 
but his calm demeanor while St. John made the 
preparations at the altar indicated that the astute 
man saw his way through. 

[445] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Presently St. John turned, and there ensued a 
hush as of the dead. The decisive moment had 
arrived. St. John, his face very solemn, because 
his duty this day weighed heavily upon his heart, 
took a glittering paten from the monstrance which 
stood on the credence table, intoning a prayer the 
while, and making the sign of the cross. The good 
monk’s hand trembled as he lifted the paten which 
bore the consecrated wafer. The silence in the 
church could be felt, and all eyes followed every 
movement of the extraordinary celebration. St. 
John turned again, and at a slight motion from 
him, Dean Fletcher arose. The guards walked by 
his side to the altar, and the Dean knelt on the 
steps, while, with bowed heads, the guards stood 
on either side, watching. 

Slowly, St. John approached the Dean, and 
solemnly, silently, he held out to him the paten, 
the solitary wafer on which was the cynosure of 
every eye. The monks strained their eyes and 
held their breath to see the miracle work. Dean 
Fletcher deliberately stretched forth his hand to 
take the holy wafer, and the monks craned their 
necks to see. When, in their excitement, the 
monks shuffled their feet, St. John put up his hand, 
whereupon the noise quieted, and a painful silence 
fell upon the church. The monks could but see 
that the Dean’s hand trembled as he raised the 
wafer to his lips. Then his countenance flushed 
and a queer look came into his face. He appeared 
to be uncomfortable, and to have suddenly become 

[ 446 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


greatly concerned about something. His hand 
halted on its way to his mouth, as though it hesi- 
tated to cast the fateful die. Then the Dean’s face 
faded back to a deathly white, and across it passed 
a sickly smile. At length the unhappy man sum- 
moned a great resolution, and with a quick motion 
he slid the consecrated wafer into his mouth. 

The human mind is a profound mystery. Its 
motor springs lie beyond its own farthest ken, and 
the wisest philosopher knows less about himself 
than he does about the fixed stars. When Dean 
Fletcher entered the church he was confident of 
victory. From the sedile he watched St. John’s 
silent movements about the altar with a curiously 
impersonal interest and without a tinge of fear. 
When the Dean arose to his feet, his spirit was 
secretly singing a song of triumph. He even had 
the temerity to glance forward to the course he 
would pursue when these mummeries were ended 
and he would be free to go about his business. So 
confident was he, that he hardly gave up the Ab- 
bacy as completely lost. He was so master of the 
situation, that he did not chafe at the restraint he 
was under, since it would last but an hour, and 
then he would get even with his tormentors. But 
for the bad effect on his cause such a course might 
have, he would have chatted with his guards 
while the ordeal was in preparation. 

But between the sedile and the altar, where he 
now knelt, something strange happened far within 
the mystery of Dean Fletcher’s consciousness. 
[ 447 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Fear sprang up within him, sudden as a flash of 
lightning, but, instead of lighting, it darkened 
every field and nook and cranny of his inner being 
with a darkness that was appalling. In spite of 
his outward composure, the awful supernatural 
world suddenly became very real to him, and also 
very imminent, and it loomed terrible with a nigh 
and mighty vengeance. The old-fashioned hell 
yawned before him, as he used to believe in it, and 
tongues of its devouring flame licked at his cassock. 

Strange to say, the supernatural light of the 
flames revealed to the culprit the true character 
of the life he had lived, and brought its evil home 
to his consciousness. Far more evil than the Green 
Devil of his masquerading, and more terrible and 
vengeful than the Red Devil who had chased him 
to the door of the Abbey, was the real personal 
Devil, the Master Power of Evil, Lord of Death 
and Hell; and that horrid Devil waited, grinning 
and confident, amid the incalescent flame of the 
Pit to receive the Dean to endless and eternal tor- 
ture. There was no myth about it now; every- 
thing was real and literal. This awful ordeal made 
real and substantial everything in the religion at 
which the Dean long had scoffed. The thin wafer 
upon the paten was the indubitable Body of Jesus 
Christ, which he, a miserable sinner, was about to 
eat unworthily, to the everlasting damnation of 
his soul. 

But Dean Fletcher was a brave man and resolute. 
He knew that to avoid the ordeal now would be to 
[ 448 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


confess his guilt. Therefore he would eat the wafer 
at once and be done with it, whatever might be the 
result. He put forth his hand. Deliberately, he 
hesitated a moment, cunningly thinking thereby to 
appear deliberate, but the ruse only added to his 
inner confusion, and made his final defeat the 
more certain. Then he took the holy wafer into 
his mouth, and immediately the morsel seemed 
hot as a live coal of fire! He tried to gulp it 
down, tried, and tried yet again. Added to the 
miracle of the wafer’s heat, the morsel seemed to 
become dry and powdery as ashes in his mouth. 
The wicked man choked. 

Horrified at this manifestation of supernatural 
power, with kindly intent, St. John and the guards 
came to his assistance. But it was no use. The 
guilty man spat out the sacred Body of the Lord 
upon the pavement, and sank into a limp helpless 
heap upon the steps of the altar, in hopeless col- 
lapse. 

The monks broke into wild execration. It 
seemed as though they would tear the broken 
Dean to pieces. St. John alone stood between 
him and immediate death. From the steps of the 
altar he beckoned for silence. When the monks 
had quieted he said, “The Brotherhood of St. 
Mary will meet in Chapter immediately to ad- 
judicate upon Dean Fletcher’s crime. Retire now 
in order, every one of you, and make ready to 
do justice.” 

Promptly the monks answered the new hand on 

[ 449 1 


29 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the helm and dispersed. To the guards St. John 
said, simply, “Bear Dean Fletcher to the Chapter 
House. If he needs refreshments let him have 
what he wants — short of poison.” 

The Dean essayed to rise to his feet, but fell 
again limp upon the altar steps. His mouth was 
parched, and his blood-shot eyes rolled about as 
though he were at the point of death. He clutched 
with both hands about the region of his heart, and 
the monks lingered in the chancel to see Heaven’s 
final act of justice in the Dean’s quick death. But 
Heaven seemed to leave him to his fate, for shortly 
he recovered from his spasms. 

A monk with a kindly heart broke through the 
awe the strange spectacle inspired, and carried the 
Dean a tankard of water. The Dean drained its 
contents, but his mouth parched again ere the 
vessel was well out of his hand. In a thin weak 
voice the Dean asked for a stimulant, and a 
Brother brought him a tankard of strong wine. 
But the wine was powerless to chase the deathly 
pallor from his cheeks. The wine, however, flushed 
a little strength into his limbs and, assisted by 
his guards, he arose to his feet. Leaning heavily 
upon their shoulders, he passed slowly down the 
transept toward the Chapter House. 

Then St. John walked briskly into the nave, 
where Dwarf Henry, a much interested observer 
of the proceedings, leaned against a pillar, waiting 
for him. 

“What next?” the Dwarf asked, laconically. 

[ 450 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“ Strict justice, and full,” St. John replied, a 
stern accent in his voice that boded ill for Dean 
Fletcher. 

“He’ll plead ‘Benefit of Clergy,’” the Dwarf 
answered, and then added, sharply, “But, St. 
John, an’ you fail to hang him, we’ll burn the 
Abbey about your heads, and hold you for a set of 
sniveling traitors.” 

“Fear not, my son,” answered St. John, laying 
his hand kindly on the Dwarf’s shoulder. “But 
you must leave the Abbey now. Remember how 
that ‘A still tongue wags in a wise head,’ my lad. 
I would that you were one of us, that you might 
see an Abbey’s justice.” 

“ I would not be a monk to see the pope hanged ! ” 
Dwarf Henry laughed back, waving farewell jaun- 
tily from half way over the bridge, whither St. 
John had accompanied him. Then the bridge 
creaked up again and St. John turned back into 
the Abbey. 


[ 451 ] 






CHAPTER XXIX. RETRIBUTION 



CHAPTER XXIX 


RETRIBUTION 

IN WHICH IT IS MADE TO APPEAR THAT IF STONE 
WALLS HAVE EARS THEY ALSO HAVE TONGUES 
AND THAT THEY MAY BECOME THE STRANGE 
UNDOING OF A MAN’S FINE PROSPECTS 

St. J ohn presided at the Chapter which convened 
to pass upon the crimes of Dean Fletcher, but he 
was the gentle St. J ohn no longer, for his face wore 
a strange expression of determination, and his 
mouth was set with a firm will that seemed to bode 
ill for the guilty Dean. The monks overcrowded 
the sedilia, and occupied the standing room at 
every point of vantage, while the lay brethren 
surged about the outskirts of the throng, watching 
the proceedings intently. 

Dean Fletcher was ushered into the Chapter 
House by his guards, and the monks received him 
in moody silence. Evidently, his day was passed, 
and he could only hope for justice at the hands of 
his peers. The Dean was stronger now. Indeed, 
as he sat at the end of the table which stood before 
the judges, the strange man appeared to be almost 
himself again. 

Half-a-dozen laymen came in, and piled the 
Green Devil’s plunder on the tables before the 
[ 455 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


tribunal. When the monks saw this substantial 
evidence of the Dean’s guilt, they broke out into 
open execration of the prisoner. St. John beck- 
oned sternly, and the monks subsided again into 
tense silence, whereat the Dean moistened his 
lips and twisted about nervously in his seat. He 
had come to feel that he had not a single friend in 
the assembly, and his green archers were too far 
away to serve him a good turn. 

St. John arose to speak, and men never forgot 
the expression of his face nor the tone of his voice. 
Never had the Brotherhood seen such a St. John. 
Dean Fletcher looked up in surprise, and a shudder 
palpably shook his spare frame. Briefly, and 
sternly, St. John detailed the story of the Green 
Devil’s awful crimes. When he announced that 
Dwarf Henry, under the strongest oath, had iden- 
tified the Dean in the guise of the Green Devil, the 
prisoner well-nigh collapsed, and many of the monks 
vented their pent feeling in hisses. St. John told 
how that the Dwarf had pleaded to be allowed to 
testify in person, but that it had been judged better 
to keep the trial secret, in order that the scandal 
might be buried behind the Abbey walls. How- 
ever, the evidences of the Dean’s guilt were here, 
tangible, and in plenty. Moreover, as they had 
all witnessed, the solemn ordeal had divined the 
culprit and declared his guilt. What had Dean 
Fletcher to say for himself? The Brotherhood 
would hear patiently, and would weigh most justly. 

Slowly and painfully, the Dean arose to defend 

[ 456 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


himself, and the silence which greeted him was 
tragic with pent-up passion, which, the Dean felt, 
was ready to be transmuted into a strong sentence 
of punishment. A twig tapped on a casement, 
and its faint staccato sounded clear as the blows 
of a sledge. A flock of sparrows flew past an open 
window, and at the fluttering of their wings the 
monks shivered. A raven on a chimney pot cawed 
to his mate, and the Dean put up his hand against 
the evil portent. All eyes were fixed on the Dean. 
His ashy face lighted into a wan smile as he began, 
and a little of his old confidence put momentary 
strength into his tottering limbs. It was his last 
throw of the dice. No other avenue of escape being 
open, he seemed to have determined to make con- 
fession. He would throw himself upon the mercy 
of the Brotherhood, and accept whatever penance 
might be imposed. 

“As to the woman you found at the Deanery,” 
he said, leaning heavily on the table with both his 
hands. “The Keelby witch is my sister according 
to the flesh.” 

The huge guffaw which greeted this incredible 
announcement nettled Dean Fletcher. He put 
up his hand in deprecation, and again the monks 
fell to silence. 

“Hear me, men of Thornton. I speak the solemn 
truth. Born of one father and mother were the 
Keelby witch and I, — of a Jewish mother, 
herself a famous witch, whose trade my madcap 
sister must needs follow.” 

[f457 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


‘ 1 A Jew ! A Jew ! ’ ’ the monks cried. 1 1 He shows 
the pilfer of his blood!” 

It took a stern gavel to silence the taunts and re- 
store order. Then, pale, and unable to hide his 
feelings, the Dean continued: “In my youth, I, too, 
was wild, but the years sobered me, and later I 
entered the church, intending the pious life. There 
was I lost to my family. Also I lost sight of my 
sister Becky. Only about a year ago it was that 
I learned that the Keelby witch was my sister. 

“Returning from Lincoln Assizes, a month or so 
ago, we came upon my madcap sister hanging appar- 
ently dead upon a gibbet by the roadside. Because 
she was of my blood, with my own hands I took her 
down, and would have given her decent burial, 
but that she brazenly balked death. We brought 
her to the Abbey secretly, and here I have nursed 
her back to life again, hoping that she might mend 
her wild ways, and, perchance, might take the veil. 
So help me God, it is the truth I speak. The 
strange woman is truly my blood sister. Which of 
you would not have done by her as I have done?” 

It was an adroit appeal to sympathies that lie 
universal in the human breast. The Brotherhood 
could hardly be other than lenient toward such a 
sinner with woman! But St. John’s face did not 
relax. He rapped sharply with his gavel, and the 
wave of sympathy for the Dean immediately sub- 
sided. 

“What about the Green Devil and his outrageous 
crimes?” asked St. John. “Are you guilty there?” 

[ 458 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


As the question fell upon his ears the Dean sank 
back into his chair, and it was a full minute before 
he spoke. He moistened his lips frequently, hitched 
about uncomfortably in his seat, and his labored 
breathing could be heard in every part of the room. 
Awhile it looked as though he would collapse before 
he could answer. At length he turned to St. John. 
“Confession is good for the soul,” he said. “I 
throw myself on the mercy of the Thornton Chap- 
ter. Yes! I have been the Green Devil!” 

Words cannot describe the effect produced by 
the Dean’s confession. The wildest excitement 
prevailed. When he had restored order, St. John 
looked the culprit sternly in the face, and the 
monks breathlessly awaited further questioning. 
“Why did you plunder these things?” asked St. 
John, pointing to the pile of stolen goods on the 
table. “For none of them can you have the 
slightest use. You had plenty; why, in the name 
of Heaven, must you thieve!” 

“ I know not what the scholars call it, ” the Dean 
answered. “But it is a foolish, useless desire to 
take, — to use or abuse, — everything one sees. 
The lust to possess burned out my soul, and the 
passion for adventure mastered me hopelessly.” 

A wave of fresh excitement swept the Chapter 
House, and a Brother, more forward than the rest, 
exclaimed, “He’s as guilty as Hell!” and thereat 
all heads were set a-nodding in instant approval. 

Then the Dean stood up and poured forth a full 
confession of his crimes, throwing himself upon 
[ 459 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the mercy of the Brotherhood, evidently in the 
hope that his confession and penitence might 
at least save his life. His crimes were most 
heinous, and he merited the most severe punish- 
ment. But so artful was his confession and so 
clever his subtle appeal, that he might have got 
off with the imposition of a heavy penance, but for 
a new factor which, in the interests of Justice, 
appeared at this juncture. 

The close of the Dean’s confession was interrupted 
by sundry groans and sobs which broke out among 
the lay brothers, and caused a commotion in that 
quarter of the Chapter House. The Assessors 
tried to quiet the disturbance, but the sobbing 
continued, swelling louder and louder, and evi- 
dently growing beyond control. St. John stood 
up on the dais, that he might overlook the crowd 
and the better judge what the disturbance might 
mean. 

“William Winter, ” said St. John, kindly, “ Report 
to me, here and now. I would know what may be 
amiss.” 

In answer to the summons a lay-brother pushed 
his way to the front, down an aisle that automatic- 
ally opened before and closed behind him. Tears 
trickled down the man’s cheeks, and he was evi- 
dently under the stress of great emotion. He knelt 
by the table behind which St. John sat, and had he 
been the veritable Devil himself, in open apparition, 
his advent could have had no more astounding 
effect upon Dean Fletcher. The Dean’s eyes bulged, 
[ 460 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


his jaw dropped, and his breath came in short, quick 
gasps. However, the Dean quickly recovered 
himself enough to lean over the table and whisper 
in the lay brother’s ear, “For heaven’s sake, don’t 
tell. Remember the arrow is poisoned, and oath- 
breakers go straight to hell!” 

“Heed not Dean Fletcher!” exclaimed St. John 
sharply. “Tell us your trouble.” 

The man was sore distraught. At length he 
sobbed out, “ May a lay brother ever be disburdened 
of an oath?” 

“An oath’s an oath, and binds one ever,” an- 
swered St. John. 

“If it be a foul oath?” 

“Men should not make such an oath; but being 
made, it must be kept.” 

“If on earth it damn men’s souls?” 

“Once taken, my brother, an oath must stand,” 
answered St. John, firmly, and the entire Chapter 
hung breathless on his word. 

Neither man spoke awhile, and the Dean’s face 
brightened. Danger from that quarter was grow- 
ing less. Presently the lay brother arose to his 
feet, and resolutely looked St. John in the face, as 
he earnestly queried: “But, St. John, if an oath 
harm the dead, and shield a living criminal from 
justice, may it not be broken?” 

St. John slowly shook his head, to which the lay 
Brother responded quietly, almost whispering the 
words, “Were I absolved from a hideous oath I 
[ 461 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


might tell you where Abbot Thomas is, and who 
sped away his life!” 

“William Winter! I do fully absolve you from 
such an oath! Now, quickly tell the Brotherhood 
what you know!” cried St. John. 

Dean Fletcher sank back limp in his chair, choking 
with mingled wrath and fear. A gulp of wine 
brought him to himself again, and he listened, wild- 
eyed and open-mouthed, to what the layman had 
to say. 

“One day before the villeins stormed the Abbey, 
Dean Fletcher came to me, and praised me for the 
still tongue he said I had in my head. He said 
that it was much better than as though I had my 
tongue hinged in the middle, so it would wag both 
ways, as monks’ tongues mostly do ! That is what 
he said!” the man continued, in answer to the 
titter that stirred about the room. 

“The Dean told me that Abbot Thomas’s bed- 
room was haunted by a Ghost, and that the Abbot 
wanted the Ghost trapped, and bricked up in the 
room, to save the Abbey from its wanderings. 
Sometime, when the Ghost was in the room, the 
Dean would quickly lock the door, and then I was 
to be ready to brick up the doorway. Everything 
was to be kept very secret, and to that end Dean 
Fletcher swore me on a fearful oath. 

“When the time came, Brother Benedict fetched 
Jim and me to see the Dean. Jim’s my helper, and 
he’s a good one, too! The Dean talked big about 
obedience and secrecy. If we were obedient and 
[ 462 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


kept the secret, he would admit us to the Brother- 
hood — but we’re lay brothers yet! Then he swore 
us secret on an oath of poisoned arrows, and said 
that if we split we would be shot by one of the 
arrows. I can feel the deadly things scratch me 
even now! 

“That very afternoon Jim an’ me bricked up the 
window in the Abbot’s bedroom so that a ghost 
could get neither in nor out. After supper Dean 
Fletcher told us to be ready that night, because he 
thought that was the Ghost’s time to walk. 

“Jim an’ me waited in the Dean’s kitchen, a 
good deal afraid, because we liked not Ghosts nor 
their walking. Presently, through the keyhole, I 
saw a light in the hall. I put my eye to the hole, 
and saw a company of Brothers walking down the 
hall with Abbot Thomas in their midst. Then all 
the monks left but Dean Fletcher and Brothers 
Geoffrey and Benedict. When these four came 
to the bedroom I saw Abbot Thomas step in, and 
wondered that he was not afraid of the Ghost. 
Then, quick as an owl winks, Dean Fletcher shut 
the door upon the Abbot, and forthwith turned the 
key in the lock. ” 

The man wiped the perspiration from his brow, 
and Dean Fletcher moistened his lips and turned 
about in his chair, while the Brotherhood crowded 
nearer. St. John half arose out of his chair, and 
leaned across the table the better to catch every 
word. 

“I hardly got my eyes from the keyhole before 
[ 463 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the Dean opened the kitchen door and ordered us 
to work,” the witness continued. “My! But he 
made us work! With his own hands he helped us! 
O, but he was in a hurry! Such pounding on the 
door! I’d rather face a thousand fearsome Ghosts 
than bury the half of one man alive! But for the 
oath I could not have lifted a pound of mortar that 
night, and every minute since then have I repented 
my oath and what I did because of it. 

“After it was all over, I fell a- thinking that may- 
hap my eyes had deceived me, and that the fearful 
knocking on the door while we built up the wall 
was really done by the Ghost, as Dean Fletcher 
had said. But the next day the Abbot was miss- 
ing, and he has not been heard of since! 

“This very minute you men of Thornton can 
find Abbot Thomas, an’ you will ! Pull down the 
wall, and you’ll find his carcass there! When I 
heard Dean Fletcher confess just now, and stop 
short of the most awful crime of all, I could no 
longer hold myself. Good St. John, I have your 
absolution from my oath. Now give me your for- 
giveness for not splitting sooner.” 

St. John gave the man the sign of his blessing. 

“The man lies, the man lies, he lies wondrously !” 
Dean Fletcher cried, springing to his feet, “Make 
me not blacker than I am. I’m sick. Let me go 
hence.” 

“Softly! Not yet!” said St. John. “The trial 
is not ended. We will test the truth of Winter’s 
story in a little while.” 

[ 464 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Is Scrivener’s ’prentice here?’’ continued St. 
John as he arose and let his eye range the monks 
until it fell upon Brother William, who was standing 
by the door. 

“Aye! Aye! Shall I bring him in?” answered 
Brother William, and from the dais St. John sig- 
nalled his assent. 

Presently Brother William returned with the 
youth who had come upon the men in green as 
they were stealing the Manor House will. With 
evident embarrassment the youth advanced toward 
St. John. As he moved up the aisle of monks his 
eye fell upon Dean Fletcher, and the youth sud- 
denly halted and stood stock still, as though he 
were unable to take another step. He stared at 
the Dean so hard that the Dean fidgeted uneasily 
in his chair, and perforce must cast his eyes upon 
the floor. 

“Saw you ever this man before?” asked St. John, 
pointing to the Dean. 

When he could command speech, the youth 
answered, emphatically, “Aye! Aye! I saw him! 
He is the very man I saw!” 

“Where! and when? Tell us!” urged St. John. 

“He is the Green Devil of the two men in green 
whom I came upon in the act of stealing the Manor 
House will at Scrivener Twidale’s in Lincoln town ! ” 
exclaimed the youth, greatly excited. Then he 
added; “He is the very man!” 

“ Be sure!” warned St. John, solemnly. 

“Sure! I’m sure enough!” exclaimed the youth. 

[465] 


30 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

“I could never mistake that face! He is the very 
man!” 

St. John dismissed the youth with a word, and 
then he turned to the Brethren. “Is the Chapter 
ready to vote?” he said. 

“Aye! Aye!” came the answer in a vigorous 
chorus. 

“Black balls are guilty; white, not guilty,” 
directed St. John, as the monks prepared to cast 
their votes. Presently, there followed the sharp 
staccato of the little spheres as they dropped like 
hail into the ballot-box. In a little while the box 
was brought to the table, and the Dean watched 
the monks ascertain the result of the ballot. 

“All are black! Not a single white ball!” 
announced St. John, solemnly. “The question 
now is as to what shall be the punishment. Shall 
it be Death; or shall it be a lighter sentence? Pre- 
pare to vote, and may an even-handed Justice 
guide your ballot! The black ball carries Death.” 

Again, one by one, the noisy balls dropped into 
the box, and again the loaded box was returned to 
the table. The Dean leaned forward on the table, 
and buried his face in his arms, as though he could 
no longer face the issue. 

St. John arose, and a deathly silence awaited 
his announcement. “It is DEATH!” he said, 
solemnly, and only the deep breathing of the 
monks broke the painful silence. Dean Fletcher 
still hid his feelings behind his arms as he leaned 
heavily on the table. 

[466] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Then the Chapter discussed the form of the 
extreme penalty. Only one conclusion was pos- 
sible, it being suggested by the very circumstances 
of the Dean’s crime toward Abbot Thomas. 

“An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,” 
exclaimed a monk as St. John arose to announce 
the decision of the Chapter. 

St. John’s voice choked, and he could hardly 
speak for feeling. “Dean Richard Fletcher,” he 
said; and at the word the Dean lifted his face. “It 
is the Chapter’s just sentence that you shall be 
immured with Abbot Thomas in his bedroom.” 
Then, after a pause, he added, “This will be 
Justice and Retribution combined.” 

The monks responded with an “Amen” that was 
too hearty and forceful to have been choral. It 
should be remembered that the Thornton Brother- 
hood had known nothing of the actual fate to which 
the Dean had committed Abbot Thomas. In the 
Dean’s scheme, they had merely condemned the 
Abbot to some form of penance that should be 
secretly imposed upon him by the committee of 
three. Now that the Dean’s devilish crime was 
laid open, the sense of elemental justice blazed up 
among the monks and naturally resulted in this 
even-handed sentence. In their judgment, only 
thus would the scales of Justice come to balance 
again. 

Turning to William Winter, St. John queried, 
“Said you the key was in the lock?” 

“Aye, the key is in its place in the door!” 

[ 467 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


“Gather, then, promptly, what masons and tools 
you need,” he said to the mason. “As quickly as 
you can, take down the wall you built before the 
Abbot’s door. When ’tis done we will have the 
living Dean and the dead Abbot face to face, and 
we will leave them thus. ” 


[468] 


* 


CHAPTER XXX. NEMESIS 


/ 


CHAPTER XXX 


NEMESIS 

IN WHICH A MAN MAKES A STRANGE LEAP INTO THE 
OTHER WORLD, EXPECTING THEREBY STRAIGHT- 
WAY TO LAND IN HELL, AND, THOUGH HE WELL 
DESERVED HIS FATE, SOME READERS MAY BE 
MAGNANIMOUS ENOUGH TO HOPE THAT HE 
MAY HAVE EXPERIENCED SOMETHING OF A DIS- 
APPOINTMENT 

The guards conducted Dean Fletcher to the 
dungeon in which he had baited Guilbert de 
Rouen, and from which he had deliberately sent 
Guilbert to the noose at Lincoln. The Dean 
shuddered as the door closed upon him. A kindly 
feeling had prompted the cellarer to place refresh- 
ments in the cell, and the lock had not turned in 
the door before the Dean had gulped down the 
water. But he looked on the food and shook his 
head, for, though so long a fast was before him, 
he had no mind to eat. 

Soon he seated himself on the edge of the bed, 
his elbows resting on his knees, his splayed hands 
supporting his chin, and he gazed vacantly on the 
floor. 

“I shall lose my mind!” he exclaimed, as he 
raised himself and clasped his hands to his fore- 
[471 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


head. Then he glanced furtively about the cell, as 
though he feared the very walls. “I would that 
I could lose my mind!” he added wearily. “O 
that I might not know, nor feel, nor see!” A 
shudder shook his frame, and, reluctantly, he 
drifted under the sway of his own discomforting 
thoughts. 

“They are tearing down the wall!” he thought 
to himself, and he put his hands before his eyes, as 
though he would extinguish a horrible vision. 
But it was no use. His hands blocked his sight, 
but his terrible vision they could not even cloud. 
His mind was preternaturally alert, and never 
had its discriminating powers been clearer or 
stronger. In spite of himself, his mind became 
a sort of Devil’s Advocate, and it set about its 
task of accusation with great skill and earnest- 
ness. All his life passed in review before him, 
and he rendered judgment upon it, deed by deed, 
motive by motive, purpose by purpose. 

From a calm, judicial, and condemnatory 
survey of his past, the Dean’s thought swung 
around to the future, for, curiously enough, 
at first neither the present nor his immediate 
earthly future gave him much concern. The 
other world seemed to him more real and in- 
evitable, and more to be feared than all his past 
life, or even than his impending immurement. He 
recoiled from death, his sins making him afraid, 
and his frame shook with a strange emotion. He 
was going out into eternity, a doomed man, and 

[472] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he shrank from the awful ordeal in a manner that 
would have surprised his boon companions, could 
they have seen him now that the Fates had him 
cornered. 

Presently, however, as was inevitable, his imme- 
diate prospects filled his mind. Unbidden, the 
Abbot stole into his thoughts and he could not 
put his strange visitor out of his mind. How fine 
the Abbot had appeared! How plump of figure, 
how happy of face; what a twinkle had lived in 
his eye, and how merry used to be his laugh! 
Every good quality of the living Abbot now 
haunted the Dean like a separate, sheeted ghost. 
And he had slain the Abbot! He did most truly 
repent ! But retribution was too near for repentance 
to work out salvation for the Dean. Very soon, 
now, would he be face to face with the man he had 
wronged and murdered, — and such a meeting! 

“I shall surely die of the stench!” he shouted 
bitterly. But the sound of his voice did not reach 
his guards beyond the walls, and when he again 
held his hands before his eyes they did not shut 
off the horrible vision. He saw everything all too 
clearly. There would be two heaps of corruption, 
partly hidden by two Austin habits, and in the 
end two human skeletons would lie across the 
Abbot’s bedroom, their bones fallen apart and 
dried with the passing centuries. The Dean looked 
at his hands, then he pinched his arm to determine 
whether he were yet in the flesh. Was he not 
already immured in the Abbot’s room, and was not 

[473] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


that the Abbot’s dead body that lay huddled in 
the dark corner? 

Dean Fletcher arose and, greatly agitated, he 
began to pace the diagonals which Guilbert de 
Rouen had walked the night of his arrest. The 
law of association and the subtle law of mental 
retribution, pushed the architect into the Dean’s 
mind. “He is probably hanged by this time, and 
crows are already feeding on his body,” he said 
and the thought so chilled his blood that he shivered. 

The Dean’s voice was sad rather than vindictive, 
and the old note of triumph was absent. Indeed, 
his defeat and the tragedy which lay across his 
path were forcing him to see things in their just 
proportions. How little of satisfaction had come 
to him from his successful revenge on Guilbert de 
Rouen! That had been a false step! The Dean’s 
face twitched and he put his hand to his neck to 
slacken the noose he felt tightening there. No! 
A noose was not to be his Nemesis! He was to 
be immured ! Exactly as he had immured the 
Abbot! And with the Abbot! The unburied skele- 
tons of victim and murderer would lie side by 
side. O horror! What a justice! He would break 
away to his boon companions in the forest! But 
the guards outside did not even hear him pound 
on the door. He would never see his green archers 
again. 

Once again the Dean sat upon his bed, and 
before he had recovered his breath Abbot Thomas 
led before his eyes a strange procession of the dead, 

[474] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


consisting of the victims of his own greed and lust. 
He had been the death of them all ! The procession 
began with the Dean’s playfellow who had drowned 
before his eyes in the old swimming-hole, because 
gay Dick Balaset was too cowardly to attempt 
his rescue, and the ghostly procession included a 
score or more who owed their death to the Green 
Devil’s raids. Guilbert de Rouen, too, was there, 
and when he passed, the Dean covered his face 
with his hands. Then the Dean saw himself 
bringing up the rear of that weird procession 
straight on his way to Hell! The Dean arose 
and wildly paced the cell. Then he halted, and 
clutched the region of his heart to ease a pain 
there. 

A cold clammy sweat broke out upon the man. 
He was seeing things very vividly now. The Abbot 
haunted him. The chamber to which the fates 
hurried him would be haunted with the dead 
Abbot’s ghost! He would have to live with Abbot 
Thomas’s ghost, aye, and alone die with it! He 
would have to live in the darkness, and also in the 
awful silence. When he would finally die, the 
Abbot’s ghost would take him by the arm to the 
door of Hell, and push him into the fearsome place. 

Temperamentally, and also by reason of life-long 
associations, Dean Fletcher was familiar with 
ghosts, and he well knew that, under certain con- 
ditions, the dead were known to plague the living. 

As a lad he had feared the ghost that haunted 
the Bottoms, and well did he know about the 
[ 475 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

haunted house in the big wood. There, at night, 
had plowboy and milkmaid often seen a lighted 
candle cross the kitchen all by itself. They would 
tell that it traveled at such a height that the 
candlestick must have been borne in the hands of 
an invisible person. Sometimes the candle would 
tip to one side, so that there was danger that the 
tallow might drip on to the floor; and then, before 
the astounded rustics’ eyes, the dip would be 
jerked perpendicular by some awful invisible hand. 
It was a matter of common report that, more than 
once, the candle had been seen to snuff itself, but 
never a glimpse had the sharpest eye of the Person 
or Thing that bore the invisible candlestick, or 
straightened the candle in its socket, or that made 
use of the unseen snuffers. 

All this ghostly lore had been real enough, and 
terrible enough to the Dean, as boy and as man, 
and the supernatural had held him in thralldom 
more or less through his life. But this matter of 
the Abbot’s ghost was something different! The 
Dean was going to company with goblins, to live 
with them at close range, and shortly he would 
become a goblin himself. Under the horror of the 
situation his lips refused to moisten, and his face 
was wan and ashy white. He knew that he was 
going straight to Hell, and that there would be no 
respite, and that no hand would be raised to stay 
his awful fate. 

The Dean was wondering how long he would 
live in the chamber before Abbot Thomas’s 
[ 476 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


ghost would drive him into the nether world, and 
how hot Hell would prove to be, when he was 
suddenly brought to himself by the creaking of the 
lock under the pressure of the key as some one 
opened the door from the outside. 

Slowly the door turned on its hinges, and beyond 
the doorway half a dozen monks stood in the cor- 
ridor. * ‘ We are here to take you to Abbot Thomas, ’ ’ 
said one of the monks. “Come!” 

The Dean arose slowly, thankful for even such 
a respite from his own thoughts. In the corridor 
the monks closed about him. At the outer door 
St. John and the Brotherhood stood waiting, and 
when the Dean joined them they formed a proces- 
sion about him. The great bell boomed from the 
tower as the “Passing Bell,” and the Brothers 
chanted a weird dirge for the dead. In spite of 
his determination to bear up, Dean Fletcher was 
on the verge of collapse. Mere physical courage 
had not deserted him, but his face told the story 
of a fierce battle in which the man had met bitter 
defeat. His shoulders were stooped more than 
ever, and the skin on his face was more mummy- 
like and was drawn more tightly across the bones. 
His cheeks were sunken pitifully, and his lips were 
so parched that even the tongue of youth and of 
innocency would scarcely have sufficed to moisten 
them. As he walked, his eyes were cast upon the 
ground, save once when the procession carried him 
in sight of the Gate House, when he looked up 
sharply, and, seeing the heavy oaken doors closed 
[477] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


and barred, he knew by that token that the draw 
was up, and that he was hopelessly face to face 
with an inevitable fate. Then his eyes fell again, 
and St. John heard him heave a sigh the like of 
which he had never heard in man or beast. 

As the procession moved into the corridor of the 
Abbot’s house, the masons were removing the last 
courses of brick from the doorway. St. John 
offered the Dean a chair, which the latter was 
glad to accept, because he felt so weak. 

The closed door, just beyond where the masons 
were at work, seemed to have a strange fascina- 
tion for the Dean, and he riveted his eyes on the 
key which was still in the door exactly as his own 
hands had left it when he had trapped Abbot 
Thomas. 

St. John stepped to the door to turn the key, 
and it turned so hard that he had to use both hands. 
As the bolt groaned out of mesh with the jamb of 
the door frame the monks fell back a little. When 
St. John slowly pushed the door ajar the monks 
were racked between fear and curiosity; but fear 
must have had the mastery, for the circle about 
the door widened, and many of the brethren 
nipped their noses with their thumb and finger. 
As the door opened further the monks nudged each 
other and called attention to Dean Fletcher. 

The Dean had half risen to his feet, his mouth 
was wide open, and his eyes almost stared out of 
his head. When what he expected did not appear 
beyond the door, the Dean sank back into his 

[478] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


chair, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then he 
hitched forward to the very edge of his chair, and 
he sat with his hands on his knees and his eyes 
boring the dark chamber beyond the door, the 
while his tongue many times moistened his lips. 

It was now growing dusk, and three or four 
torches appeared in the corridor. At a sign, 
one of the monks handed St. John a torch. 
Then St. John pushed the door wide open and 
stepped gingerly into the Abbot’s room, whereat 
the Dean shivered afresh, and drew his habit 
close about him, as though he suffered from the 
cold. St. John held his torch high, and, through 
the open door, every eye followed his scrutiny of 
the room, watching his movements breathlessly, 
expecting every moment to hear him cry, “Here 
he is!” But, strange to say, St. John gave no 
sign, except that his brow puckered and he pursed 
his lips. Indeed, he found the room empty. The 
body of the Abbot was not there, and there ap- 
peared to be no sign that it had ever occupied the 
room! 

The strange news spread through the corridor, 
and a buzz of wild excitement stirred among the 
monks. Dean Fletcher’s eyes bulged and again 
his mouth fell open wide. It was incredible and 
utterly impossible! St. John would surely find 
him! Perhaps he was under the bed, mayhap 
curled up, half-decomposed, in yonder dark corner, 
— perhaps the body was covered by the bedding! 
Surely the Abbot was there. Or perhaps it was a 

[479] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


trick the Devil had played upon the Dean! The 
Devil himself had spirited the body away, and 
when the Dean was safely bricked in, away from 
every eye and ear but God’s, the dead body of the 
Abbot would swing out upon the Dean from every- 
where at once, terrible, hideous and vengeful ! 
Such thought plunged the Dean further into Hell, 
and served to still further unbalance his tottering 
reason. 

When St. John came out of the room, the Dean 
read no respite in his face. “Carry out the sen- 
tence of the Chapter,” he said, simply, firmly. 
“He is guilty of everything else, whether he mur- 
dered Abbot Thomas or not. The rapes and mur- 
ders of the Green Devil are enough to immure 
him a dozen times. Haul out the furniture; the 
dead need no furnished apartment!” 

In a few minutes Abbot Thomas’s furniture had 
been piled in the kitchen. Then the monks car- 
ried into the room a rustic table and chair. St. 
John took off his own crucifix and laid it on the 
table, and another monk laid a breviary by the 
side of the crucifix. Moved by some instinct of 
kindness, other of the brethren carried back into 
the room the Abbot’s ewers and filled them brimful 
of water, and St. John, mingling kindness and jus- 
tice, carried into the room a candlestick with flint 
and steel, and placed a small sheaf of candles on 
the table by the candlestick. 

Dean Fletcher watched these movements with a 
wild, vacant stare. As St. John stepped back into 
[480] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


the corridor and moved in the direction of the 
Dean, as though the time had now come when he 
should escort the culprit across the fatal threshold, 
suddenly the Dean gave a mighty yell and sprang 
up from his chair. 

“The Abbot! The dead Abbot! The ghost of 
Abbot Thomas!” shrieked the Dean. As the 
weird cry escaped his lips he sprang upon a 
block of stone and pointed his index finger down 
the corridor over the heads of the monks, his 
hand the while shaking as though with the palsy, 
and his face livid with uncontrolled fear. All eyes 
turned to where the Dean’s tense finger pointed, 
and there down the corridor floated, as it were, 
the apparition of the dead Abbot Thomas! He 
carried his hands muffled in his sleeves before 
him. His eyes were wide with astonishment and 
inquiry, and lie walked slowly toward the crowd 
about the bedroom door. As it approached, the 
apparition raised its hand, exactly as the Abbot 
was wont to do in the olden days when about to 
speak, and doubtless his familiar voice would have 
fallen on the monks’ ears, but at that very instant 
Dean Fletcher’s actions held the right of way. 

As the apparition of the dead Abbot raised its 
hand to speak, Dean Fletcher lost control of him- 
self. With another wild shriek he sprang from the 
stone on which he stood and, plumping one foot 
knee deep into the mortar tub, he bounded to the 
top of the pile of brick and stone that lay in 
the corridor. From the topmost block of stone the 
[481] 


31 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


insane man gave one wild look around upon the 
monks. Then, glancing at the advancing ghost of 
the dead Abbot, he threw himself down through 
the doorway into the Abbot’s room, where he fell 
flat upon his face and lay sprawled full length 
across the floor, without sound or motion, even as 
though he were already dead. Noticing the edge 
of a parchment sticking out from one of the Dean’s 
pockets, St. John stepped across the threshold and, 
stooping down, he took possession of the parch- 
ment. A faint smile flickered for a moment across 
the set face of St. John as he thrust the parch- 
ment into his own bosom, for he had noted that 
the parchment was none other than the stolen 
Manor House deed. 

“I will present it to Mistress Heloise!” he said 
to himself, as he closed the door upon the Dean. 
Then he turned the key in the lock and motioned 
the masons to proceed. 

“The Abbey’s strict justice upon Dean Fletcher 
we will keep secret,” St. John said to the monks, 
as he waved them dismissal with his hand. “’Tis 
better and quicker than the civil arm would act, 
and less expensive!” he added, as the brethren 
turned to go, nodding their heads in assent. 

The strange diversion of the Dean’s shriek and 
of his leap into his own tomb, had turned every 
eye from the Abbot, and when St. John had closed 
the door the apparition had vanished. St. John left 
the masons in charge of the Treasurer, and himself 
hurried down the corridor. At the Gate House he 
[482] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


intercepted Abbot Thomas in the flesh, and the 
two men embraced, for they dearly loved each 
other. 

For a full minute neither man spoke. 

‘‘How gained you the Abbey?” St. John asked 
at length. 

“The draw was down and I had a key to the 
postern.” 

“’Tis strange. The watch had strict orders to 
keep the bridge up. Yea! ’Tis down now! I sup- 
pose that the keepers are out to see justice done!” 
St. John’s tone of voice changed, as he continued, 
saying: “You will come back to us, and be our 
Abbot again?” 

“Nay! Nay! St. John! ’Tis kindly meant, 
but it may not be! I’m in a wider world, and am 
also playing a more useful part,” answered the 
Abbot. 

“How did you escape immurement? It was a 
most puzzling situation just now, to find the 
room empty! A good thing for you and for me, 
but the Dean actually thought that you were your 
ghost!” 

“Guilbert de Rouen rescued me the day the 
villeins stormed the Abbey. He discovered a 
secret passage and carried me out, and the Lady 
Heloise nursed me back to life. I would have you 
keep secret my immurement, and also the most 
just end of Dean Fletcher. We must save the 
Abbey from scandal. And, St. John, I would that 
you might be Abbot in my place. With Dean 
[ 483 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Fletcher gone, Thornton under you would be a 
happy Brotherhood.” 

Silence fell between the two, as each man 
thought about his friend, Guilbert de Rouen. 
“Guilbert is a noble man,” said St. John, and 
tears were not far beneath the surface of his voice. 
‘‘He is a good man. Will he hang, think you?” 

The Abbot was greatly moved, and when he 
spoke it was in tones the most grave. 

“I fear he will hang,” he said. “In spite of all 
his friends can do for him, his case is most hope- 
less. All levers in his behalf seem to fail us. I’m 
back shortly to try again, and John Wyclif keeps 
close watch. A dozen strong men have risked 
their necks to the king, so far to no purpose, and 
it is all we can do to keep some from drawing the 
sword. But we shall keep on trying, until — it is — 
until it is too late.” The near prospect of that day 
so affected the Abbot that he could hardly speak. 
“Wyclif sped me to York on a mission,” he con- 
tinued. “In passing, I yielded to an impulse to 
turn aside to see the Abbey once again. I found 
you at your strange task, and would have inter- 
posed, but that I had solemnly bound myself that 
I would never interfere between that man and the 
Almighty’s vengeance. Therefore I turned about 
and left him to his fate, and though to do that 
went sorely against the feelings of my heart, the 
action has the approval of my head.” 

“The Dean was — the Dean is — I suppose he is, 
though when I touched him he seemed to be dead 

[484] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


already — the Dean was a very wicked man,” 
answered St. J ohn. 1 1 He was the closest incarnation 
of the Devil I have ever known ! May God Almighty 
have mercy on his soul!” 

The Abbot bowed his head and responded with a 
grave “Amen!” In a moment the Abbot con- 
tinued, “I trust that he is dead. I cannot bear to 
think of even such a wretch as he suffering what 
he caused me to suffer. Probably he is dead. He 
must be dead!” 

“I think the Dean is dead,” said St. John. 
“What I have seen him go through today would 
end a man of iron!” 

The two men crossed the deserted bridge, and 
just beyond the Abbot turned and placed his 
hands on St. John’s shoulders. “Be thou Abbot 
in my stead,” he said. 

Then the two men kissed each other, and the 
Abbot took the road to the forest. After a few 
paces the Abbot turned and lifted his hands in 
blessing, and St. John, standing by the end of the 
bridge, received his Pax Vobiscum with bowed 
head. Then he recrossed the bridge into the 
Abbey. 


[485] 


» 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN IDYL WITH A CLOUD 





CHAPTER XXXI 


AN IDYL WITH A CLOUD 

WHICH FAITHFULLY CHRONICLES THE MANNER IN 
WHICH, AFTER MUCH STORM AND STRESS, CER- 
TAIN SHIPS CAST ANCHOR IN QUIET WATERS, 
THE CHAPTER BEING DEDICATED TO THE COM- 
FORTABLE FAITH THAT, “ ALL’S WELL THAT 
ENDS WELL” 

Once more it was summertime in the land. In 
the Abbey St. John ruled in the stead of Abbot 
Thomas, and by consummate gentleness he had 
reduced the Brotherhood to order after the stress 
of the past year, so that once more there reigned 
at Thornton the good will which should mark the 
religious life. With the new harmony all nature 
was in tune. The forest was green, the fields 
laughed toward abundant harvest, and the wayside 
bloomed with wild flowers. Overhead, the blue 
sky was flecked with fleecy clouds, and the sun 
was warm, while a charm lay upon the long genial 
days and the short cool nights which made of the 
land a veritable paradise. 

The garden at the Manor House had come to 
its wonted summer bloom. All day long, birds 
and butterflies flitted among its trees and flowers. 
The noisy bees sang their song of honey through 
the day, and when the light of the moon mimicked 

[489] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


day through the short summer night, a night- 
ingale trilled from the thorn tree in the hedge at 
the bottom of the garden. 

Summertime had also come for the two who 
loitered in the garden during these long days. 
As they trod the walks together and picked flowers, 
the ripple of a woman’s laughter would smite the 
thrush with envy. It was marvelous how much 
music inhered in a mere name, when the woman 
would call, “Guilbert!” And you never knew the 
charm of the name borne by the maid of the Manor 
House until in the garden you had heard it rever- 
ently and joyously on the tongue of Guilbert de 
Rouen. 

“Two birds a-cooing!” the gardener would 
remark to Martin Reeve, as the two pottered among 
the flowers. 

Old Martin would smile in his quiet grim way. 
“ ’Tis better than hanging, I’m a-thinking!” he 
said. Then he would add with evident satisfac- 
tion: “He’s more natural than a monk. I like it 
better, and she is happier these days than she 
was before.’’ 

Guilbert de Rouen was back at the Manor House, 
and Heloise was very happy. Guilbert’ s escape 
from the gallows had been by a margin so narrow 
that he would often playfully declare that his neck 
felt sore, and that underneath his stock might be 
seen the welt of a rope! 

Guilbert owed his life to the persistent impor- 
tunity of his friends with the king. Straightway 

[490] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


from the trial Sir William had gone to Westminster. 
King Richard was in a bad temper and promptly 
ordered Sir William to leave court. 

The doughty knight sought out strong allies, 
and deliberately laid siege. John Wyclif espoused 
his cause, and went with him in person to the 
king, and the two pleaded for Guilbert’s life, 
but to no immediate purpose. Without leaders 
the villeins would never have revolted, and the 
leaders should suffer the full penalty of their trea- 
son — such was the king’s damning logic. That 
Sir William had served the Black Prince in his 
French campaigns, and was one of that great 
warrior’s most trusted friends, counted for little 
with the Black Prince’s son when that scion 
was angry or was set on blood. But Wyclif knew 
the temper of the king, and had well charted 
the influences to which the vain boy was most 
susceptible. By way of kitchen politics he at 
length gained Richard’s signature to a reprieve 
which further postponed Guilbert’s hanging until 
the first of March. Whereupon the friends of 
Guilbert took courage, and continued to maintain 
a constant watch upon the king’s changing moods. 

In January the king married Anne of Bohemia, 
and London was ablaze with festivities. The 
bride had a fair face, and also a gentle heart that 
leaned kindly toward the poor. She signalized 
her nuptials by securing from the royal groom a 
general amnesty for the prisoners of the rising. 
Fearing that Guilbert de Rouen might possibly 
[491 ] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


be overlooked in the general application of the 
amnesty, before the ink on the parchment was 
sanded dry, John Wyclif and his friends seized the 
gracious moment to sue the king for his full pardon 
and for the restoration of all his civil rights. 

“Your friend’s got good friends, I swear,” cried 
the king. “Give me another parchment, and I’ll 
clerk him a full pardon! I’m sick of blood! Love 
on the throne! Let Guilbert de Rouen go scot 
free!” The king scrawled the writing on the 
parchment, and with his own hands he held it on 
the table while the great seal was being affixed, 
whereupon he was rewarded by a gracious smile 
from the bride-queen. 

On a lazy evening when the spell of English 
twilight lay upon the Manor House garden, Guil- 
bert and Heloise sat on the bench by the fountain. 
There came a footfall on the gravel walk, and the 
pair moved a little apart, as, with something of a 
twinkle in his eyes, Martin Reeve appeared upon 
the scene. 

“I’m fresh from Lincoln,” Martin announced 
when Heloise had bidden him speak. “ Day before 
yesterday, after the baiting, a Wyclif preacher 
stood forth in the bull ring to speak to the crowd. 
When the monk threw back his hood, by St. Satan, 
who should it prove to be but our Abbot Thomas ! 
In his russet frock I hardly knew him, and he looks 
better in Austin black, but his voice was the same 
I used to hear talking to the birds here in the 
garden. It was good to hear him talk again. And 

[492] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


he did talk. No mumbling, I tell you! He looked 
so good himself, and spoke so kindly of better 
days a-coming, and of how men ought to live 
together in peace and love, that I shamed of my 
bow, and hid it behind my back where he couldn’t 
see it; and now I’m ready to swear that rye bread 
isn’t black, nor small beer either weak or sour! 
He made me wish we were all better men, he did! 
Well, to come to the point, as the spear said when 
it slew the man, the Abbot, — I reckon he is an 
Abbot yet, isn’t he?” 

The twain on the bench shook their heads, smiling 
together at the man’s ambling tongue, the while 
they enjoyed his unconscious humor, as though 
the problem of Father Thomas’s status in the 
ecclesiastical world was clear beyond, above, or 
below them. 

Receiving no enlightenment on the problem that 
puzzled him, old Martin proceeded, “Well, as I 
was a-saying, the Abbot talked the discontented 
people happy, and the hungry people full. When 
the sermon was ended he spied me out, and motioned 
me to him. He seemed glad to see me, I suppose 
because I was one to carry him out and helped you, 
my mistress, nurse him back to life; though what 
there was in me to weep about is clear beyond 
my depth; unless it was that my jerkin was 
full of holes, or my leggins ragged, or my cap 
featherless, and I myself had seen better days! 
But, it’s bad manners laughing at ill luck! 

“The Abbot was wonderful curious to know 

[493] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


about you all at the Manor House, and seemed 
sort of glad, Sir, that you, Sir, were here, — as he 
well ought to be; for if ever man saved another’s 
life, you, Sir, saved the Abbot’s, and God bless 
you. He told me to tell you all, that for awhile 
Lincoln would be his headquarters, and that there 
he would stay with some Benedictine friends in 
their Abbey. And if any of you came to Lincoln 
he would expect to you see there!” 

Old Martin returned down the path, and when 
Guilbert heard him close the garden gate he turned 
to Heloise, earnestly, as though to resume an 
interrupted conversation. 

“What about the priest?” he asked. “St. John 
is away at Lincoln, and thence to London to be 
gone a whole month,” he added lugubriously, 
whereat Heloise laughed. Unperturbed, Guilbert 
continued, “We might get Father Ambrose, the 
Thornton parish priest, but I fea,r me that he would 
fall asleep between responses!” 

“Perhaps Martin solves our problem about the 
priest,” said Heloise, sobering as she spoke. 

“How so? ’Tis thirty miles or more to Lincoln, 
and the Abbot will hardly come this way.” 

‘"How slow of understanding a man can be!” 
exclaimed Heloise, her laughter rippling over the 
fountain. 

“Mean you that we might be wed in Lincoln?” 
Guilbert asked, surprise in his voice. “What 
about the wedding festivities, — flowers, and bells, 
carols by day, and serenades by night, and Thorn- 

[494] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


ton topsy-turvy to do honor to your wedding day? 
You may not forego these tributes of your neighbors’ 
love.” 

Heloise was well pleased with his thoughtfulness, 
but she said, “Never mind the festivities. To 
cut the gordian knot, we’ll ride to Lincoln, and 
Abbot Thomas shall seal our marriage vows, an’ 
he will do it.” 

The hesitancy that lurked in her last words did 
not escape Guilbert’s notice. Heloise was not quite 
certain that she ought to ask the Abbot to perform 
her wedding ceremony. For her the situation 
would not be hard, but might it not be full of grave 
difficulties for him? Her earlier attachment to 
the Abbot had developed into an orderly, high, and 
keen appreciation of him as a priest, which would 
make his performance of her wedding ceremony of 
supreme value. For her the unusual relationship 
had cleared itself, and the experience had established 
in her mind the fundamental distinctions which 
exist between the relationship of spiritual adviser 
and that of husband. As the former she still held 
the Abbot in the highest regard, while she was 
free to give herself to Guilbert de Rouen in the 
holy relationship of husband and wife. Moreover, 
Heloise knew that the Abbot wished it to be so. 
But ought she to ask the man she had regarded in 
such an unusual manner to perform the ceremony 
that would make her the wife of another? Abbot 
Thomas had made his great renunciation in the 
interests of his religious vows, but might not some 

[495] 


the gr;een ( devil 

of the old feeling linger in him yet? Heloise 
referred the matter to Guilbert for his opinion. 

“You need have no fear on that score,” Guilbert 
replied. “A month ago I met the Abbot at Salis- 
bury. He is a great man, and a good man, too. 
You are not weaned from his marriageable love more 
than he is from yours. He is wedded to John 
Wyclif’s cause, and bridegroom never was happier 
in the possession of his bride. He loves the world 
better than he could ever love a woman. Never 
saw I a man more consumed with the passion of 
his work. The night before I saw him, he had 
slept by a haystack in the fields, having preached 
five times that day and traveled fifteen miles. 
That day at Salisbury he preached in the market 
place four times, and at night he passed on into 
the villages. Abbot Thomas will be glad to join 
our hands. He as good as told me so, — we may 
depend on that.” 

On a bright day in August the cathedral at Lin- 
coln had a surprise. At tierce the finest coach the 
city could afford, loaned for the occasion from the 
equipage of Mistress Catherine Swynford below 
the Hill, lumbered through the close and drew up 
before the north transept entrance to the cathedral. 
For escort Sir William Wellham and a gay young 
Lincolnshire squire rode on either side the coach, 
the former with a rich surcoat showing brilliant 
over his shining mail, the latter in the finest trappings 
the office of Squire to a Knight allowed. Behind 
the coach, on a mettlesome steed, rode Guilbert 

[496] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


de Rouen, his face more notable than his gay 
silks, his plumed hat, his grotesquely pointed shoes, 
or his red yellow-lined cloak. Martin Reeve 
brought up the rear with a score of retainers, 
nosegays tied on their halberds with knots of ribbon, 
the very gait of the men a wedding march. At 
the big doors the horsemen dismounted, and the 
young squire threw open the door of the coach, and, 
with due ceremony, assisted the Lady Wellham 
and Mistress Heloise to alight — the women resplen- 
dent with wedding attire. 

At the door of the Chapel of St. Hugh one of 
Wyclif’s Poor Priests stood waiting. When the 
russet priest threw back his hood, the action revealed 
the genial face of Abbot Thomas. Save for the 
plain russet gown, and that his features bore marks 
of an outdoor life, it was the Abbot of former days 
that led the way into the Chapel of St. Hugh. A 
closer scrutiny of the face might have revealed 
certain lines of care, and even of suppressed pain. 
Had Heloise seen these tokens on the Abbot’s face, 
she might have concluded that it might have been 
better had she not invited him to perform her 
wedding ceremony, for it was just possible that the 
matter weighed more heavily on his heart than 
was indicated by his genial and gentle manner. 

But nothing of strain showed in the Abbot’s face 
or voice. Guilbert and Heloise stood before the 
altar, and in the finely modulated voice of a scholar 
the Abbot read the ritual, intoning deep meaning 
into every accent. The happy pair made the 

[497] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


customary responses, and the Abbot solemnly 
pronounced the words that made them husband and 
wife, “For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in 
sickness or in health, until death — shall — you — 
part ! ” and he spoke the words with signal solemnity. 

“You will come with us to the Tabard? ” Guilbert 
turned to say to the Abbot as the party moved out 
from the Chapel. But the Abbot had retired to 
the sacristy. 

“We’ll send the coach back for him,” Heloise 
said, and the party moved down the aisle. 

A score of young girls waited at the great door, 
and scattered flowers on the bride and groom as 
they emerged into the open, spreading the bloom 
adown the path from the door to the coach. 

“It was good of you to think of it!” Heloise said 
to Guilbert as her face suffused with pleasure, and 
through her tears Lady Wellham smiled upon the 
happy pair. 

The wedding party had entered the parlor of the 
Tabard Inn, and Guilbert lingered a moment or 
two on the porch to instruct the coachmen to return 
for Abbot Thomas, when a monk came running 
down the street and, breathless, halted by the coach. 
“The russet priest that married you is dead!” the 
monk said to Guilbert. “After the ceremony he 
fell suddenly sick in the sacristy, and we could 
neither drug nor bleed him back to life. The 
brothers sent me, because they thought that you 
would like to know, and maybe you can tell us who 
are his friends.” 


[498] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Guilbert was greatly shocked, but he decided 
that he would not immediately break the news to 
Heloise. There might be some mistake about the 
matter. He would investigate, and then tell 
Heloise as gently as he could. 

“You need not go up the hill; you may return 
directly home,” Guilbert said to the waiting coach- 
man. “Tell the wedding party in the parlor that 
Guilbert de Rouen will return shortly, having gone 
up the hill,” he instructed a lackey. Then he 
returned with the monk to the cathedral. 

The dead Abbot had already been borne out of 
the sacristy, and in an apartment adjoining the 
Chapter House four monks were preparing the body 
for burial. 

“He’s a stranger,” one of the monks remarked 
as Guilbert entered. “One of Wyclif’s men, but 
his underclothing seems to indicate that otherwise 
he was a man of some distinction. Know you his 
name or station?” 

“ He is a friend of mine, a good man, and a russet 
priest who submerged his name in his work,” Guil- 
bert answered, desiring to shield the Abbot’s tragedy 
from unsympathetic ears. 

Guilbert raised the cloth to look upon the Abbot’s 
face, and there were tears in his voice as well as in 
his eyes as he asked, “Spoke he no word? Did he 
leave no message?” 

“He said little or nothing that we could make 
sense of,” replied one of the monks. “While I 
chafing his hand, I heard him say, ‘Heloise, 
[ 499 ] 


was 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


Heloise, 0 Heloise,’ pronouncing the name thrice, 
and with much feeling. She must be the Prioress 
of some Abbey, but we know not of such a one here. 
Once I seemed to hear him say, ‘Guilbert,’ as though 
he were thinking of some Brother — perhaps a cell 
mate in his Abbey. Then his head fell back, and 
I thought that he was dead. Presently he revived. 
He seemed to get quite strong again, so that I 
thought he would recover. But he sank away 
again, and incoherent words were faint upon his 
lips. I caught the words, ‘God’ — ‘so loved’ — 
‘world’ — ‘he gave.’ He seemed, Sir, to put empha- 
sis on the last word. He spoke no more, Sir, for he 
was dead. The words sound somewhat familiar to 
us. Brother Benedict and I think that they may 
be snatches from Dan Chaucer, but Brother Henry, 
here, affirms that he fancies that the words are from 
the Bible. Know you whether either guess is 
right?” 

Guilbert was weeping, and he did not answer the 
garrulous monk. The face of the dead was calm 
and restful, and a smile had set upon the still 
countenance. Guilbert almost fancied that the 
lips moved to speak to him, but when he placed his 
hand gently on the Abbot’s forehead the chill of 
death had already settled there. Guilbert was very 
sorrowful, for memory of the full tide of the Abbot’s 
tragedy surged in upon him, and so closely was his 
own good fortune associated with the Abbot’s suffer- 
ing, that he felt as though the Abbot’s tragedy were 
his very own. Moreover, he bore the sorrow for him- 
[500] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


self, and also for Heloise, for he knew that she would 
feel the Abbot’s death most keenly. 

Encouraged by Guilbert’s evident sympathy, 
the monk continued, “We found this on his person, 
fastened over his heart. It is a scripment of some 
sort, and an amulet, as one well can see,” he added, 
as he gave Guilbert a small dainty sheepskin package. 

With trembling fingers Guilbert opened the pack- 
age. It contained a small scrap of parchment, and 
on it a brief essay on “Hypatia,” done in Heloise’s 
dainty hand, and subscribed with her signature. 
Guilbert put the little scroll in his pocket, and, be- 
cause in their eyes he stood so evidently for the dead 
man’s next of kin, the monks did not say him nay. 

At length Guilbert overcame his grief enough to 
say, “The dead monk was my dear friend. I will 
bear the expense of his burial, and of masses for the 
repose of his soul.” 

He put a gold piece into the hand of one of 
the monks, and walked soberly away. As he passed 
down the great nave, a solemn chant floated from 
the chancel, and certain words from an ancient 
book came forcibly to his mind. 

“There are three things which are too wonderful for me, 
Yea four which I know not; 

The way of a serpent upon a rock; 

The way of a ship in the midst of the sea; 

And the way of a man with a maid.” 

Never had Heloise felt such grief as came when 
Guilbert broke to her the news and the manner of 
the Abbot’s death. She felt as though she were 

[501] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 

guilty of his untimely end, and most bitterly she 
blamed herself for having selfishly invited the 
Abbot to perform her marriage ceremony. Her 
husband sought to comfort her. 

“The Abbot would have eaten out his brave 
heart whether he had married us or not,” Guilbert 
said. “ Performing the ceremony would have made 
no difference in the case,” he continued, as he tried 
to ease her sobbing. 

There was little comfort in Guilbert’s words. 
When he put his strong arm about her, Heloise 
dropped her head upon his shoulder, but she was so 
distraught that she found but slight comfort even 
there. 

A week later, Guilbert and Heloise, greatly 
saddened, but also chastened into a deeper and 
richer love by the tragedy of the death of Abbot 
Thomas, rode southward for Dover, on the way 
to France. Yearning for the scenes of his old 
campaigns, honest Martin Reeve accompanied 
them, at the head of half a dozen of the Wellham 
retainers who were also hungry for further French 
adventures, and who could guard Mistress Heloise 
on the road and serve her in Guilbert’s chateau 
in France. 

As the party rode into Dover town, the sun was 
setting. A glorious light flooded the Downs, and 
glinted the town and castle with crimson glory, while 
it spread silver and gold over the placid water of 
the channel. As the party dismounted before the 
Queen’s Inn, Guilbert and Heloise stood a moment 
[502] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


on the stone steps to drink in the warmth of the 
soft sweet light. 

“What a glorious sunset!” exclaimed Heloise, 
greatly moved by the glory. 

“It is our sunrise!” answered Guilbert, signifi- 
cantly, and a smile of great gladness suffused his 
face with a finer than sunset light. 


[503] 















CHAPTER XXXII. THE EPILOGUE 










% 
























CHAPTER XXXII 


THE EPILOGUE 

WHICH CONTAINS SOME INCONSEQUENTIAL PARA- 
GRAPHS WHICH DO NOT PROPERLY BELONG TO 
THE STORY, AND WHICH THEREFORE MAY BE 
SKIPPED AT THE READER’S PLEASURE 

The Thornton monks bore the Keebly witch to 
a neighboring convent, where the sisters nursed 
the erratic creature back to life. With the adminis- 
tration of their simples, the sisters instilled in their 
patient’s mind such religious teaching as was possi- 
ble, but it is safe to say that they never had a more 
unpromising pupil, or one whose progress in things 
religious caused them to look with less hope toward 
harvest time. 

“She is a pagan!” the Abbess would say. “A 
pagan she will remain in spite of all that we can 
do!” 

In a little while there came a missive from France 
inviting Becky to make Heloise a visit, which invi- 
tation she promptly accepted. Heloise gave the 
witch a most hearty, sisterly welcome, but she 
was greatly surprised at the words with which 
Becky returned her greeting. 

“I’m a new woman!” Becky exclaimed. “I’ve 
turned over a new leaf. No more necromancy for 

[507] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


me ; except that I would learn what it is that makes 
you a good woman, and then try to do it!” 

The strangest thing about this unexpected reso- 
lution doubtless was that much of it came true, 
and like twin sisters Heloise and Becky lived 
together until the end of Becky’s life. 

Dean Fletcher was never seen again. The 
Thornton Brotherhood, trained to strict obedience, 
remained as silent about the Dean’s fate as did the 
stone walls of his tomb. 

When four and a half centuries had rolled over 
the land, and when upon the throne of the Plantage- 
net sat a German George, among the picturesque 
ruins of Thornton Abbey a company of workmen 
were tearing down certain walls which time had 
rendered unsafe. 

“Here is a door that was built up sometime,” 
said the foreman. “Pick it out, Tom, and let’s 
see what’s behind!” 

When the debris had been cleared away, the work- 
men discovered a secret chamber. In the cham- 
ber stood a table and a chair, and both the articles 
of furniture were very ancient and were loaded 
with dust. On the table stood an old candlestick, 
and close by an uncut sheaf of candles, which could 
hardly be distinguished under thick layers of dust. 
A crucifix and a breviary lay upon the table, and 
these likewise were covered with dust. In the 
chamber the men also found two ancient ewers, 
[508] 


THE GREEN DEVIL 


dust-choked. The workman who sprang into the 
room to investigate further was horrified to come 
upon the skeleton of a man, face downward, lying 
full length upon the floor, and over him lay shreds 
of what had doubtless once been a monk’s habit. 
When the man touched the form, it crumbled into 
dust. 

At once antiquarians fell to work upon the prob- 
lem presented by this strange discovery, and in due 
time their investigations were rewarded. In the 
old Chronicle of the Abbey, preserved among the 
manuscript of the Bodleian library, was found 
this very significant entry concerning Abbot Thomas 
de Gretham. 

“He died, but in what manner I know not. He 
hath no obit as the other Abbots have, and the 
place of his burial hath not been found.” 

Perhaps this entry in the old Thornton Chronicle 
refers to Abbot Thomas’s strange and unaccount- 
able disappearance from the Abbot’s chair; and it 
may well be that the nineteenth century workmen 
stumbled upon the long-sealed tomb of Richard 
Fletcher, the infamous Green Devil who haunts 
the traditions of Thornton Abbey. 


[509] 


I 













NOV 6 1912 






















» 












. 
















































































































































































L . s uy <?y 

'■ * 0 , A * " \> V :J s " .O^ 

^ .'At * 



l 

r ^r> \\» 41 

° ^ ^ - 
' Z , v * 


“ «\V </> 

K <\V ^ 


X V * 

o 0 X 


T> ^ & ** 

c y 0 „ * * A n 

<P. A yX <■ 

-f ^ J ^ * 

- */- v* = 

«X 

4 -r* * * »0 o >. 

o> v- -* lpn^so® o $ 

^ "‘ ’*«? ,. *..'*' v^\ 

A V N 0' 

r v> Vi ^ 

° ** ^ ° 


z « *V 
f A? A*' 


$?* 


V- 


*w . ** % A^lglpy y’ . 

A o *7^\s \(y y 

• c 0 0 * 'o. ,.0 V <. * v B « <f> 

$ fsfsiv / ' ~J l ) V ^o- /p 

'< A 


A ^ » 


** ✓ 

'' ' * * *> 
O 


'J r 

C> /. 


v a i \ 


vOo. 

^ <5*. ,\» ' n * 

' * .-s 0 .O 5 c o ^ 

A> A *t.., ^ 

A 


V ^ W!/- SC 

A ■ g 


' A' 

% V 


“ aV </> 

* ^ ^ 


r r^ 

^ > v ^ 

</> <\v 

tP « 

^ JX * 


y 0 * X* / 

aX c 


y 0 




w 


__ > 

"*r*^*° N °° nf°° Yb 0 C ^ ^ 9 "" \V 

^ ^ ,0 V ^ Y 0 ' V \> S 

^ * All /A ° A- A 

* A 'V "- •' v 

^ A C s 

^ <y * s 

0_ ,P\ ^ c ^ 

^ o o x s fc/ „^. 


CP' 

: >b 0 ^ *■*■ 

<r < iV v, ^te 

■y O^ ^ 

r ^UWVX^ > 
y 



9 ♦ r 



& y * 

* 0 m 0 * , 

V > x O’ 



V* 

." A' A. - 

y 0 , X ^ A 'o 

<V > o n c ,. 

y ^ » c ° % p 

L O K\ V <S^!l/^Sr ' 



xy 

A * 7 ^, * 

*- % sS <^ r * , 
^ ♦ » . '* A^ 1 S - , ^ " OH °’ - ^° v . 

V ,s % r a, y cy ^ v * o ,, * c > 


« ca> ^ o V//¥\\^ ® 0^’ ^ < 

<A y o * ,A A aa ^ ^ 

, ^ A X c 0 N c * ^o * " 0 v . 

- ^ ^ a> o° * s 


C‘ 

'f* 

*<• V. 

° A 




✓* v \ Vxa > 

^ y ^kk <t 

%*"" °A 


s » x° °^. 

> 

|>” A °o, ^ 

V ^ ' * 0 /• "'fev 

* ^ ^v> \v 

V c 7 ,J y ^ 

a ^ A> A : ^f#- . • 

°**\\A ,.«,V*'>-'''< 



<*. y o 


. -i> / 

* x a\ 






^ .V - 
° ^ ^ » 






z 

C* ^ o 'i// \y\\0 37 <\^' tfP* 

' - G ^ '°* i \a g # „ c vJv^ & „, <c ^Y,, 

^ * C ^v - ^ 0° A' r ,. % ^ / / - 

a\ <*, ,_<p \ . ' V^i S * v * A' *" 

^ v f ~ - ^ OQ \ : MmZv - ^ r ° 




“\ v V * 0 *^r- ' * * > 

) ^ ^ O. V 

v ^ 


5 

‘O' 



kV </> 



cp ^ 

a\ 

O, x / 

A o N c 


V c 


» , rASAv 

* o 


-A, <s- 



,/■ 



p pa 

S' ^ 


<* ( 




00 «\V </> 

- # % . 

^ / n . -* A O /y / 

<* A *> c 0 N C * ^O * * 

^ V' * cA^X\ * O 

x°°. 


0 l 


0" *' 


*\ 

> N ° oV v -*«, ij. 

A xX A^sP/iP P o 

5 A' 

z ^ V 


*b 0^ 


V*-V.*';^,.; r ' 

„ C‘ V * s 'f 


it 


P> 


V 


f 

<p L/ 

* 


c 


1 fi ^ ^ 

\ 

s — - * 

^ -p 


* <* 7 


■ '- *■ * : 0 i% S «*' 



•r ^ -. 


«/* 

Ci *■ ~ z ' t ' /V \~ a* P. rv 

°| *•■" '* ^ V \\.o, 

x ^ A^ ' *- .$L Jr) 

* ,p. <* A *V ~*'>>**< 

<o 
v ^ 
aV </> 


"b 

r ‘ v*_ V v 


^ ✓ ’^mywr ^ - 'f v 

O 7/ 1 s s aU 

A- ' * 6 s «v 


a y </v> 

♦* % *, 



f tt a 


t, v c$ A (Js s 

' 0 » K* A '' 

A t 0 N c ^ 

, v ‘^ cASNv ^ ^ 

A' k cr*0 n ■ u'*^. ^ 

- *A> Y c r < 


0 t pS 



\Y- r :< Kt ^ ^ ^ 

C* ^ \ ' O r^ ^ (x0 CP. /*- 

. ./% " 1 <?^t*'> 4 ’ * 0 / . ' **, \. ' " '“ v^'» ^ 

• >. . ' sms*.+* *. A : ,y/" v xv * 



° \V „ 


° ■'Qo ^ 

^ > z 


o A "^b ° 

v? Vf- -» 


P' ^ 

\ v \s> 


* A x ' * 


* ^ ^ ■* A. ^ys y , 

■s’ ,0 V < *o*y+ <A 

r 0 ^,« 11 '* '% / /J*, o, 

° * .V ' ' 

-< V- r 

O 

, o o *- 

,0^ * 0 ^ o vb s ’ 

^ .VxV/-! V ^ A' 

b ^ - mP#z °. * <& 



Cp ^ 
& ^ 



''A 0 .>•*, ^ 

0° t 



Apon s p ' * 14 s 




, . „ a" ^ % \ 

s ,^°' . x . . , % 1 '• ‘ V c o ~ o ,V’ - * * 



